irvi 


ESTHER  &LUCIA 
CHAMBERLAIN 


THE  COAST  OF  CHANCE 


THE 

COAST  OF  CHANCE 


By 
ESTHER  AND  LUCIA  CHAMBERLAIN 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BT 

CLARENCE  F.  UNDERWOOD 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1908 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


APRIL 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  &  CO. 

BOOKBINDERS  AND  PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  THE  VANISHING  MYSTERY    ...          1 

II  A  NAME  GOES  ROUND  A  TABLE     .          .       24 

III  ENCOUNTERS  ON  PARADE      ...       63 

IV  FLOWERS  BY  THE  WAY         ...       82 
V   ON  GUARD 93 

VI  BLACK  MAGIC    .          .          .          .          .105 

VII  A  SPELL  Is  CAST        .         .         .         .129 

VIII  A  SPARK  OF  HORROR           .          .          .      142 

IX  ILLUMINATION    .          .         .         .         .162 

X  A  LADY  UNVEILED      .         .         .          .175 

XI  THE  MYSTERY  TAKES  HUMAN  FORM       .     197 

XII  DISENCHANTMENT        .          .          .          .213 

XIII  THRUST  AND  PARRY    .         .         .          .216 

XIV  COMEDY  CONVEYS  A  WARNING       .          .231 
XV  A  LADY  IN  DISTRESS            .          .          .     248 

XVI  THE  HEART  OF  THE  DILEMMA       .          .     285 

XVII  THE  DEMIGOD             ....     293 

XVIII  GOBLIN  TACTICS                                            330 


2229458 


CONTENTS— Continued 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XIX   THE  FACE  IN  THE  GARDEN  .          .  .     345 

XX  FLIGHT -.     36l 

XXI   THE  HOUSE  OF  QUIET           .          .  .381 

XXII    CLARA'S  MARKET        .          .          .  .410 

XXIII  TOUCHE  422 

XXIV  THE  COMIC  MASK        .          .          .  .435 
XXV    THE  LAST  ENCHANTMENT     .  45 1 


THE  COAST  OF  CHANCE 


THE  COAST  OF  CHANCE 


THE  VANISHING  MYSTERY 

FLORA  Gilscy  stood  on  the  threshold  of 
her  dining-room.  She  had  turned  her 
back  on  it.  She  swayed  forward.  Her 
bare  arms  were  lifted.  Her  hands  lightly  caught 
the  molding  on  either  side  of  the  door.  She 
was  looking  intently  into  the  mirror  at  the 
other  end  of  the  hull.  All  the  lights  in  the  din 
ing-room  were  lit,  and  she  saw  herself  rather 
keenly  set  against  their  brilliance.  The  straight- 
held  head,  the  lifted  arms,  the  short,  slender 
waist,  the  long,  long  sweep  of  her  skirts  made 
her  seem  taller  than  she  actually  was ;  and  the 
strong,  bright  growth  of  her  hair  and  the  vi 
vacity  of  her  face  made  her  seem  more  deeply 
colored. 

She  had  poised  there  for  the  mere  survey  of 
1 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

a  new  gown,  but  after  a  moment  of  dwelling  on 
her  own  reflection  she  found  herself  considering 
it  only  as  an  object  in  the  foreground  of  a  pic 
ture.  That  picture,  seen  through  the  open  door, 
reflected  in  the  glass,  was  all  of  a  bright,  hard 
glitter,  all  a  high,  harsh  tone  of  newness.  In  its 
paneled  oak,  in  its  glare  of  cut-glass  and  silver, 
in  the  shining  vacant  faces  of  its  floors  and  walls, 
there  was  not  a  color  that  filled  the  eye,  not  a 
shadow  where  imagination  could  find  play.  As  a 
background  for  herself  it  struck  her  as  incongru 
ous.  Like  a  child  looking  at  the  landscape  upside 
down,  she  felt  herself  in  a  foreign  country. 
Yet  it  was  hers.  She  turned  about  to  bring  it 
into  familiar  association.  There  was  nothing 
wrong  with  it.  But  its  great  capacity  sug 
gested  large  parties  rather  than  close  intimacies. 
In  the  high  lift  of  its  ceilings,  the  ample  open 
ings  of  its  doors,  the  swept,  garnished,  polished 
beauty  of  its  cold  surfaces,  it  proclaimed  itself 
conceived,  created  and  decorated  for  large,  fine 
functions.  She  thought  whimsically  that  any 
one  who  knew  her,  coming  into  her  house,  would 


THE     VANISHING     MYSTERY 

realize  that  some  one  other  than  herself  had  the 
ordering  of  it. 

She  glanced  over  the  table.  It  was  set  for 
three.  It  lacked  nothing  but  the  serving  of  din 
ner.  She  looked  at  the  clock.  It  wanted  a  few 
minutes  to  the  hour.  Shima,  the  Japanese  but 
ler,  came  in  softly  with  the  evening  papers.  She 
took  them  from  him.  Nothing  bored  her  so 
much  as  a  paper,  but  to-night  she  knew  it  con 
tained  something  she  really  wanted  to  see.  She 
opened  one  of  the  damp  sheets  at  the  page  of 
sales. 

There  it  was  at  the  head  of  the  column  in 
thick  black  type: 

AT    AUCTION,    FEBRUARY    18 

PERSONAL    ESTATE    OF 

ELIZABETH    HUNTER    CHATWORTH 

CONSISTING    OF    

She  read  the  details  with  interest  down  to  the 

end,  where  the  name  of  the  "famous  Chatworth 

ring"  finished  the  announcement  with  a  flourish. 

Why  "famous"?    It  was  very  provoking  to  ad- 

3 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

vertise  with  that  vague  adjective  and  not  ex 
plain  it. 

She  turned  indifferently  to  the  first  page.  She 
read  a  sentence,  re-read  it,  read  it  again.  Then, 
as  if  she  could  not  read  fast  enough,  her  eyes 
galloped  down  the  column.  Color  came  into  her 
cheeks.  The  grasp  of  her  hands  on  the  edges 
of  the  paper  tightened.  It  was  the  most  ex 
traordinary  thing !  She  was  bewildered  with  the 
feeling  that  what  was  blazing  at  her  from  the 
columns  of  the  paper  was  at  once  the  wildest 
thing  that  could  possibly  have  happened,  and  yet 
the  one  most  to  have  been  expected. 

For,  from  the  first  the  business  had  been 
sinister,  from  as  far  back  as  the  tragedy — the 
end  of  poor  young  Chatworth  and  his  wife — 
the  Bessie,  who,  before  her  English  marriage, 
they  had  all  known  so  well.  Her  death,  that  had 
befallen  in  far  Italian  Alps,  had  made  a  sensa 
tion  in  their  little  city,  and  the  large  announce 
ments  of  auction  that  had  followed  hard  upon 
it  had  bred  among  the  women  who  had  known 
her  a  morbid  excitement,  a  feverish  desire  to  buy, 


THE     VANISHING     MYSTERY 

as  if  there  might  be  some  special  luck  in  them, 
the  jewels  of  a  woman  who  had  so  tragically 
died.  They  had  been  ready  to  make  a  social 
affair  of  the  private  view  held  in  the  "Maple 
Room"  before  the  auction.  And  now  the  whole 
spectacular  business  was  capped  by  a  sensation 
so  dramatic  as  to  strain  credulity  to  its  limit. 
She  could  not  believe  it ;  yet  here  it  was  glaring 
at  her  from  the  first  page.  Still — it  might  be 
an  exaggeration,  a  mistake.  She  must  go  back 
to  the  beginning  and  read  it  over  slowly. 

The  striking  of  the  hour  hurried  her.  Shima's 
announcement  of  dinner  only  sent  her  eyes  faster 
down  the  page.  But  when,  with  a  faint,  smooth 
rustic,  Mrs.  Britton  came  in,  she  let  the  paper 
fall.  She  always  faced  her  chaperon  with  a 
little  nervousness,  and  with  the  same  sense  of 
strangeness  with  which  she  so  frequently  regard 
ed  her  house. 

"It's  fifteen  minutes  after  eight,"  Mrs.  Brit- 
ton  observed.  "We  would  better  not  wait  any 
longer." 

She  took  the  place  opposite  Flora's  at  the 
5 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

round  table.  Flora  sat  down,  still  holding  the 
paper,  flushed  and  bolt  upright  with  her  news. 

"It's  the  most  extraordinary  thing!"  she 
burst  forth. 

Mrs.  Britton  paused  mildly  with  a  radish  in 
her  fingers.  She  took  in  the  presence  of  the  pa 
per,  and  the  suppressed  excitement  of  her  com 
panion's  face — seemed  to  absorb  them  through 
the  large  pupils  of  her  light  eyes,  through  all 
her  smooth,  pre^  person,  before  she  reached 
for  an  explanation. 

"Whau  is  the  most  extraordinary  thing?" 
The  query  came  bland  and  smooth,  as  if,  what 
ever  it  was,  it  could  not  surprise  her. 

"Why,  the  Chatworth  ring!  At  the  private 
view  this  afternoon  it  simply  vanished!  And — 
and  it  was  all  our  own  crowd  who  were  there !" 

"Vanished!"  Clara  Britton  leaned  forward, 
peering  hard  in  the  face  of  this  extraordinary 
statement.  "Stolen,  do  you  mean?"  She  made 
it  definite. 

Flora  flung  out  her  hands. 

"Well,  it  disappeared  in  the  Maple  Room,  in 
6 


THE     VANISHING     MYSTERY 

the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  when  everybody 
was  there — and  they  haven't  the  faintest  clue." 

"But  how?"  For  a  moment  the,  preposterous 
fact  left  Clara  too  quick  to  be  calm. 

Again  Flora's  eloquent  hands.  "That  is  it! 
It  was  in  a  case  like  all  the  other  jewels.  Harry 
saw  it" — she  glanced  at  the  paper — "as  late  as 
four  o'clock.  When  he  came  back  with  Judge 
Buller,  half  an  hour  after,  it  was  gone." 

Flora  leaned  forward  on  her  elbows,  chin  in 
hands.  No  two  could  have  differed  more  than 
these  two  women  in  their  blondness  and  their 
prettiness  and  their  wonder.  For  Clara  was 
sharp  and  pale,  with  silvery  lights  in  eyes  and 
hair,  and  confronted  the  facts  with  an  alert  and 
calculating  observation;  but  Flora  was  tawny, 
toned  from  brown  to  ivory  through  all  the 
gamut  of  gold — hair  color  of  a  panther's  hide, 
eyes  dark  hazel,  glinting  through  dust-colored 
lashes,  chin  round  like  a  fruit.  The  pressure  of 
her  fingers  accented  the  slight  uptilt  of  her 
brows  to  elfishness,  and  her  look  was  introspect 
ive.  She  might,  instead  of  wondering  on  the 
7 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

outside,  have  been  the  very  center  of  the  mys 
tery  itself,  toying  with  unthinkable  possibilities 
of  revelation.  She  looked  far  over  the  head  of 
Clara  Britton's  annoyance  that  there  should  be 
no  clue. 

"Why,  don't  you  see,"  she  pointed  out,  "that 
is  just  the  fun  of  it?  It  might  be  anybody.  It 
might  be  you,  or  me,  or  Ella  Buller.  Though 
I  would  much  prefer  to  think  it  was  some  one  we 
didn't  know  so  well — some  one  strange  and  fas 
cinating,  who  will  presently  go  slipping  out  the 
Golden  Gate  in  a  little  junk  boat,  so  that  no  one 
need  be  embarrassed." 

Clara  looked  back  with  extraordinary  intent- 
ness. 

"Oh,  it's  not  possible  the  thing  is  stolen. 
There's  some  mistake!  And  if  it  were" — her 
eyes  seemed  to  open  a  little  wider  to  take  in  this 
possibility — "they  will  have  detectives  all  around 
the  water  front  by  to-night.  Any  one  would 
find  it  difficult  to  get  away,"  she  pointed  out. 
"You  see,  the  ring  is  an  important  piece  ol 
property." 

8 


THE     VANISHING     MYSTERY 

"Of  course;  I  know,"  Flora  murmured.  A 
faint  twitch  of  humor  pulled  her  mouth,  but  the 
passionate  romantic  color  was  dying  out  of  her 
face.  How  was  it  that  one's  romances  could  be 
so  cruelly  pulled  down  to  earth?  She  ought  to 
have  learned  by  this  time,  she  thought,  never  to 
fly  her  little  flag  of  romance  except  to  an  empty 
horizon — never,  at  least,  to  fly  it  in  Clara's  face. 
It  was  always  as  promptly  surrounded  by 
Clara's  common  sense  as  San  Francisco  would 
be  surrounded  by  the  police.  But  still  she 
couldn't  quite  come  down  to  Clara.  "At  least," 
she  sighed,  "he  has  saved  me  an  awful  expense, 
whoever  took  it,  for  I  should  have  had  to  have 
it." 

Mrs.  Britton  surveyed  this  statement  consid 
eringly.  "Was  it  the  most  valuable  thing  in  the 
collection  ?" 

Flora  hesitated  in  the  face  of  the  alert  ques 
tion.  "I — don't  know.  But  it  was  the  most  re 
markable.  It  was  a  Chatworth  heirloom,  the 
papers  say,  and  was  given  to  Bessie  at  the  time 
of  her  marriage."  The  thought  of  the  death 
9 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

that  had  so  quickly  followed  that  marriage  gave 
Flora  a  little  shiver,  but  no  shade  of  the  tragedy 
touched  Clara.  There  was  nothing  but  specula 
tion  in  Clara's  eyes — that,  and  a  little  disap 
pointment.  "Then  they  will  put  off  the  auction 
— if  it  is  really  so,"  she  mused. 

"Oh,  yes,"  Flora  mourned,  "they  can  put  it 
off  as  long  as  they  please.  The  only  thing  I 
wanted  is  gone — and  I  hadn't  even  seen  it." 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  be  too  sure.  There  may  be 
some  mistake  about  it.  The  papers  love  a  sen 
sation." 

"But  there  must  be  something  in  it,  Clara. 
Why,  they  closed  the  doors  and  searched  them — 
that  crowd !  It's  ridiculous !" 

Clara  Britton  glanced  at  the  empty  place. 
"Then  that  must  be  what  has  kept  him." 

"Who?  Oh,  Harry!"  It  took  Flora  a  mo 
ment  to  remember  she  had  been  expecting  Harry. 
She  hoped  Clara  had  not  noticed  it.  Clara  al 
ways  had  too  much  the  assumption  that  she 
was  taking  him  only  as  the  best-looking,  best- 
natured,  safest  bargain  presented.  "He  will  be 
10 


THE     VANISHING     MYSTERY 

here,"  she  reassured,  "but  I  wish  he  would  hurry. 
His  dinner  will  be  spoiled;  and,  poor  dear,  he 
likes  his  dinner  so  much !" 

The  faint  silver  sound  of  the  electric  bell,  a 
precipitate  double  peal,  seemed  to  uphold  this 
statement.  The  women  faced  each  other  in  a 
moment's  suspense,  a  moment  of  expectation, 
such  as  the  advance  column  may  feel  at  sight  of 
a  scout  hotfoot  from  the  field  of  battle.  There 
were  muffled  movements  in  the  hall,  then  light, 
even  steps  crossing  the  drawing-room.  Those 
light  steps  always  suggested  a  slight  frame, 
and,  as  always,  Flora  was  re-surprised  at  his 
bulk  as  now  it  appeared  between  the  parted  cur 
tains,  the  dull  black  and  sharp  white  of  his  even 
ing  clothes  topped  by  his  square,  fresh-colored 
face. 

"Well,  Flora,"  he  said,  "I  know  I'm  late,"  and 
took  the  hand  she  held  to  him  from  where  she 
sat.  Her  face  danced  with  pleasure.  Yes,  he  was 
magnificent,  she  thought,  as  he  crossed  with  his 
light  stride  to  Mrs.  Britton's  chair.  He  could 
even  stand  the  harsh  lines  and  lights  of  even- 
11 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

ing  clothes.  He  dominated  their  ugly  conven 
tion  with  his  height,  his  face  so  ruddy  and 
fresh  under  the  pale  brown  of  his  hair,  his  alert, 
assured,  deft  movement.  His  high  good  nature 
had  the  effect  of  sweetening  for  him  even  Clara 
Britton's  flavorless  manner.  The  "We  were 
speaking  of  you,"  with  which  she  saw  him  to  his 
seat,  had  all  the  warmth  of  a  smile,  but  a  smile 
far  in  the  background  of  Flora's  immediate  pos 
session.  Indeed,  Flora  had  seldom  had  so  much 
to  say  to  Harry  as  at  this  moment  of  her  excite 
ment  over  what  he  had  actually  seen.  For  the 
evidence  that  he  had  seen  something  was  vivid 
in  his  face.  She  had  never  found  him  so  splen 
didly  alive.  She  had  never  seen  him,  it  came  to 
her,  quite  like  this  before. 

She  shook  the  paper  at  him.  "Tell  us  every 
thing,  instantly !" 

He  gaily  acknowledged  her  right  to  make  him 
thus  stand  and  deliver.  He  shot  his  hands  into 
the  air  with  the  lightening  vivacity  that  was  in 
him  a  sort  of  wit.  "Not  guilty,"  he  grinned  at 
her. 

12 


THE     VANISHING     MYSTERY 

"Harry,  you  know  you  were  in  it.  The  papers 
have  you  the  most  important  personage." 

"Oh,  not  all  that,"  he  denied  her  allegation. 
"They  had  the  whole  lot  of  us  cooped  up  to 
gether  for  investigation  for  as  much  as  two 
hours.  I  thought  I  shouldn't  have  time  to  dress ! 
I'm  as  hungry  as  a  hawk !"  He  rolled  it  out  with 
the  full  gusto  with  which  he  was  by  this  time 
engaged  on  his  first  course. 

"Poor  dear,"  said  Flora  with  cooing  mock- 
sympathy,  "and  did  they  starve  it?  But  would 
it  mind  telling  us,  now  that  it  has  its  food,  what 
is  true,  and  what  was  the  gallant  part  it  played 
this  afternoon?" 

"Well,"  he  followed  her  whimsical  lead,  "the 
chief  detective  and  I  were  the  star  performers. 
I  found  the  ring  wasn't  there,  and  he  found  he 
couldn't  find  it." 

"Don't  you  know  any  more  than  the  paper?" 
Flora  mourned. 

"Considerably  less — if  I  know  the  papers." 
He   grinned  with   a  fine  flash  of  even   teeth. 
"What  do  you  want  me  to  say  ?" 
13 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

"Why,  stupid,  the  adventures  of  Harry 
Cressy,  Esquire.  How  did  you  feel?" 

"Thirsty." 

"Oh,  Harry !"  She  glanced  about,  as  if  for  a 
missile  to  threaten  him  with. 

"Upon  my  word !  But  look  here — wait  a  min 
ute!"  he  arrived  deliberately  at  what  was  re 
quired  of  him.  "Never  mind  how  I  felt;  but  if 
you  want  to  know  the  way  it  happened — here's 
your  Maple  Room."  He  began  a  diagram  with 
forks  on  the  cloth  before  him,  and  Clara,  who 
had  watched  their  sparring  from  her  point  of 
vantage  in  the  background,  now  leaned  for 
ward,  as  if  at  last  they  were  getting  to  the  point. 

"This  is  the  case,  furthest  from  the  door." 
He  planted  a  salt-cellar  in  his  silver  inclosure. 
"I  come  in  very  early,  at  half -past  two,  before 
the  crowd;  fail  to  meet  you  there."  He  made 
mischievous  bows  to  right  and  left.  "I  go  out 
again.  But  first  I  see  this  ring." 

"What  was  it  like  ?"  Flora  demanded. 

"Like?"  Harry  turned  a  speculative  eye  to 
the  dull  glow  of  the  candelabrum,  as  if  between 
14 


THE     VANISHING     MYSTERY 

its  points  of  flame  he  conjured  up  the  vision  of 
the  vanished  jewel.  "Like  a  bit  of  an  old  gold 
heathen  god  curled  round  himself,  with  his  head, 
which  was  mostly  two  yellow  sapphires,  between 
his  knees,  and  a  big,  blue  stone  on  top.  Soft, 
yellow  gold,  so  fine  you  could  almost  dent  it. 
And  carved!  Even  through  a  glass  every  line 
of  it  is  right."  He  paused  and  ran  the  tip  of 
his  finger  along  the  silver  outline  of  his  diagram, 
as  if  the  mere  memory  of  the  precious  eyes  of  the 
little  god  had  power  to  arrest  all  other  consider 
ation.  "Well,  there  he  was,"  he  pulled  himself 
up,  "and  I  can't  remember  when  a  thing  of  that 
sort  has  stayed  by  me  so.  I  couldn't  seem  to  get 
away  from  it.  I  dropped  into  the  club  and 
talked  to  Buller  about  it.  He  got  keen,  and  I 
went  back  with  him  to  have  another  look  at  it. 
Well,  at  the  door  Buller  stops  to  speak  to  a  chap 
going  out — a  crazy  Englishman  he  had  picked 
up  at  the  club.  I  go  on.  By  this  time  there's  a 
crowd  inside,  but  I  manage  to  get  up  to  the  case. 
And  first  I  miss  the  spot  altogether.  And  then 
I  see  the  card  with  his  name;  and  then,  under- 
15 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

neath  I  sec  the  hole  in  the  velvet  where  the  god 
has  been." 

Flora  gave  out  a  little  sigh  of  suspense,  and 
even  Clara  showed  a  gleam  of  excitement.  He 
looked  from  one  to  the  other.  "Then  there  were 
fireworks.  Buller  came  up.  The  detective  came 
up.  Everybody  came  up.  Nobody'd  believe  it. 
Lots  of  'em  thought  they  had  seen  it  only  a  few 
minutes  before.  But  there  was  the  hole  in  the 
velvet— and  nothing  more  to  be  found." 

"But  does  no  one  know  anything?  Has  no 
one  an  idea?"  Clara  almost  panted  in  her  im 
patience. 

"Not  the  ghost  of  a  glimmer  of  a  clue.  There 
were  upward  of  two  hundred  of  us,  and  they  let 
us  out  like  a  chain-gang,  one  by  one.  My  num 
ber  was  one  hundred  and  ninety-three,  and  so 
far  I  can  vouch  there  were  no  discoveries.  It 
has  vanished — sunk  out  of  sight." 

Flora  sighed.    "Oh,  poor  Bessie  Chatworth !" 

It  came  out  with  a  quick  inconsequence  that  made 

Clara — even  in  her  impatience — ever  so  faintly 

smile.    "It  seems  so  cruel  to  have  your  things 

16 


THE     VANISHING     MYSTERY 

taken  like  that  when  you're  dead,  and  can't  help 
it,"  Flora  rather  lamely  explained.  "I  should 
hate  it." 

Harry  stared  at  her.  "Oh,  come.  I  guess  you 
wouldn't  care."  His  eyes  rested  for  a  moment 
on  the  fine  flare  of  jewels  presented  by  Flora's 
clasped  hands.  "Besides," — his  voice  dropped 
to  a  graver  level — "the  deuce  of  it  is — "  he 
paused,  they,  both  rather  breathless,  looking  at 
him.  He  had  the  air  of  a  man  about  to  give  in 
formation,  and  then  the  air  of  a  man  who  has 
thought  better  of  it.  His  voice  consciously  shook 
off  its  gravity.  "Well,  there'll  be  such  a  row 
kicked  up,  the  probability  is  the  thing'll  be  re 
turned  and  no  questions  asked.  Purdie's  keen 
— very  keen.  He's  responsible,  the  executor  of 
the  estate,  you  see." 

But  Clara  Britton  leveled  her  eyes  at  him,  as 
if  the  thing  he  had  produced  was  not  at  all  the 
thing  he  had  led  up  to.  "Still,  unless  there  was 
enormous  pressure  somewhere — and  in  this  case 
I  don't  see  where — I  can't  see  what  Mr.  Purdie's 
keenness  will  do  toward  getting  it  back." 
17 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

Harry  played  a  little  sulkily  with  the  propo 
sition,  but  he  would  not  pick  up  the  thread  he 
had  dropped.  "I  don't  know  that  any  one  sees. 
The  question  now  is — who  took  it?" 

"Why,  one  of  us,"  said  Flora  flippantly.  "Of 
course,  it  is  all  on  the  Western  Addition." 

"Don't  you  believe  it !"  he  answered  her.  "It's 
a  confounded  fine  professional  job.  It  takes 
more  than  sleight  of  hand — it  takes  genius,  a 
thing  like  that !" 

Flora  gave  him  a  quick  glance,  but  he  had  not 
spoken  flippantly.  He  was  serious  in  his  admira 
tion.  She  didn't  quite  fancy  his  tone.  "Why, 
Harry,"  she  protested,  "you  talk  as  if  you  ad 
mired  him !" 

At  this  he  laughed.  "Well,  how  do  you  know 
I  don't?  But  I  can  tell  you  one  thing" — he 
dropped  back  into  the  same  tone  again — "there's 
no  local  crook  work  in  this  affair.  It  should  be 
some  one  big — some  one — "  He  frowned  straight 
before  him.  He  shook  his  head  and  smiled. 
"There  was  a  chap  in  England,  Farrell  Wand." 
18 


THE     VANISHING     MYSTERY 

The  name  floated  in  a  little  silence. 

"He  kept  them  guessing,"  Harry  went  on  re 
calling  it ;  "did  some  great  vanishing  acts." 

"You  mean  he  could  take  things  before  their 
eyes  without  people  knowing  it?"  Flora's  eyes 
were  wide  beyond  their  wont. 

"Something  of  that  sort.  I  remember  at  one 
of  the  Embassy  balls  at  St.  James'  he  talked  five 
minutes  to  Lady  Tilton.  Her  emeralds  were  on 
when  he  began.  She  never  saw  'em  again." 

Flora  began  to  laugh.  "He  must  have  been 
attractive." 

"Well,"  Harry  conceded  practically,  "he  knew 
his  business." 

"But  you  can't  rely  on  those  stories,"  Clara 
ob  j  ected. 

"You  must  this  time,"  he  shook  his  tawny 
head  at  her;  "I  give  you  my  word;  for  I  was 
there." 

It  seemed  to  Flora  fairly  preposterous  that 
Harry  could  sit  there  looking  so  matter-of-fact 
with  such  experiences  behind  him.  Even  Clara 
19 


THE     COAST     OF     CHAN.CE 

looked  a  little  taken  aback,  but  the  effect  was 
only  to  set  her  more  sharply  on. 

"Then  such  a  man  could  easily  have  taken  the 
ring  in  the  Maple  Room  this  afternoon?  You 
think  it  might  have  been  the  man  himself?" 

His  broad  smile  of  appreciation  enveloped 
her.  "Oh,  you  have  a  scent  like  a  bloodhound. 
You  haven't  let  go  of  that  once  since  you  started. 
He  could  have  done  it — oh,  easy — but  he  went 
out  eight,  ten  years  ago." 

"Died?"  Flora's  rising  inflection  was  a  la 
ment. 

"Went  over  the  horizon — over  the  range.  Be 
lieve  he  died  in  the  colonies." 

"Oh,"  Flora  sighed,  "then  I  shall  have  to 
fancy  he  has  come  back  again,  just  for  the  sake 
of  the  Chatworth  ring.  That  wouldn't  be  too 
strange.  It's  all  so  strange  I  keep  forgetting  it 
is  real.  At  least,"  she  went  on  explaining  her 
self  to  Harry's  smile,  "it  seems  as  if  this  must 
be  going  on  a  long  way  off,  as  if  it  couldn't  be 
so  close  to  us,  as  if  the  ring  I  wanted  so  much 
couldn't  really  be  the  one  that  has  disappeared." 
20 


THE     VANISHING     MYSTERY 

All  the  while  she  felt  Harry's  smile  enveloping 
her  with  an  odd,  half -protecting  watchfulness, 
but  at  the  close  of  her  sentence  he  frowned  a 
little. 

"Well,  perhaps  we  can  find  another  ring  to 
take  the  place  of  it." 

She  felt  that  she  had  been  stupid  where  she 
should  have  been  most  delicate.  "But  you  don't 
understand,"  she  protested,  leaning  far  toward 
him  as  if  to  coerce  him  with  her  generous 
warmth.  "The  Chatworth  ring  was  nothing  but 
a  fancy  I  had.  I  never  thought  of  it  for  a  mo 
ment  as  an  engagement  ring !" 

By  the  light  stir  of  silk  she  was  aware  that 
Clara  had  risen.  She  looked  up  quickly  to  en 
counter  that  odd  look.  Clara's  face  was  so 
smooth,  so  polished,  so  unruffled,  as  to  appear 
almost  blank,  but  none  the  less  Flora  saw  it  all 
in  Clara's  eye — a  look  that  was  not  new  to  her. 
It  was  the  same  with  which  Clara  had  met  the 
announcement  of  her  engagement ;  the  same  look 
with  which  she  had  confronted  every  allusion 
to  the  approaching  marriage;  the  same  with 
21 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

which  she  now  surveyed  the  mention  of  the  en 
gagement  ring — a  look  neither  approving  nor 
dissenting,  whose  cairn,  considerate  speculation 
seemed  to  repudiate  all  interest  positive  or  nega 
tive  in  the  approaching  event  except  the  one 
large  question,  "What  is  to  become  of  me?" 
Many  times  Clara  had  held  it  up  before  her, 
not  as  a  question,  certainly  not  as  an  accusation ; 
as  a  flat  assertion  of  fact;  but  to-night  Flora 
felt  it  so  directly  and  imperatively  aimed  at  her 
that  it  seemed  this  time  to  demand  an  audible 
response.  And  Clara's  way  of  getting  up,  and 
standing  there,  with  her  gloves  on,  poised  and 
expectant,  as  if  she  were  only  waiting  an  oppor 
tunity  to  take  farewell,  took  on,  in  the  light  of 
her  look,  the  fantastic  appearance  of  a  final  de 
parture.  "I'm  afraid,"  she  mildly  reminded 
them,  "that  Shima  announced  the  carriage  ten 
minutes  ago." 

"Oh,  dear,  I'm  so  sorry !"  Flora's  eyes  wav 
ered  apologetically  in  the  direction  of  the  wait 
ing  Japanese.  Clara's  flicker  of  amusement 
made  her  hate  herself  the  moment  it  was  out. 


THE     VANISHING     MYSTERY 

She  could  always  depend  on  herself  when  she 
knew  she  was  on  exhibition.  She  could  be  sure 
of  the  right  thing  if  it  were  only  large  enough, 
but  she  was  still  caught  at  odd  moments  by  the 
trifles,  the  web  of  a  certain  social  habit  into 
which  she  had  slipped,  full  grown  on  the  smooth 
surface  of  her  father's  millions.  Clara's  fleet 
ing  smile  lit  up  these  trifles  to  her  now  as  enor 
mous.  It  took  advantage  of  her  small  deficit  to 
point  out  to  her  more  plainly  than  ever  to  what 
large  blunders  she  might  be  liable  when  she  had 
cut  loose  from  Clara's  guiding,  reminding, 
prompting  genius,  and  chose  to  confront  the 
world  without  it. 

To  be  sure,  she  was  not  to  confront  it  alone; 
but,  looking  at  Harry,  it  came  to  her  with  a 
moment's  qualm  that  she  did  not  know  him  as 
well  as  she  had  thought. 


II 

A  NAME  GOES  ROUND  A  TABLE 

FOR  to-night,  from  the  moment  he  had 
appeared,  she  had  recognized  an  unfa 
miliar  mood  in  him,  and  it  had  come 
out  more  the  more  they  had  discussed  the  Chat- 
worth  ring.  It  was  not  in  any  special  word  or 
action  on  his  part.  It  was  in  his  whole  presence 
that  she  felt  the  difference,  as  if  the  after 
noon's  scandal  had  been  a  stimulant  to  him — not 
through  its  romantic  aspect,  as  it  had  affected 
her,  but  merely  by  the  daring  of  the  theft  itself. 

She  wondered,  as  he  heaped  her  ermine  on  her 
shoulders,  if  Harry  might  not  have  more  sur 
prises  for  her  than  she  had  supposed.  Perhaps 
she  had  taken  him  too  much  for  granted.  After 
all,  she  had  known  him  only  for  a  year. 

She  herself  was  but  three  years  old  in  San 


A     NAME     GOES     ROUND     A     TABLE 

Francisco,  and  to  her  new  eyes  Harry  had 
seemed  an  old  resident  thoroughly  established. 
So  firmly  established  was  he  in  his  bachelor  quar 
ters,  in  his  clubs,  in  the  demands  made  upon  him 
by  the  city's  society,  that  it  had  never  occurred 
to  her  he  had  ever  lived  anywhere  else.  Nor  had 
he  happened  to  mention  anything  of  his  previous 
life  until  to-night,  when  he  had  given  her,  in 
that  mention  of  a  London  ball,  one  flashing 
glimpse  of  former  experiences. 

Impulsively  she  summed  up  the  possibilities 
of  what  these  might  have  been.  She  gave  him  a 
look,  incredulous,  delighted,  as  he  handed  her 
into  the  carriage.  She  had  actually  got  a  thrill 
out  of  easy-going,  matter-of-fact,  well-tubbed 
Harry!  It  was  a  comradeship  in  itself.  Not 
that  she  would  have  told  him.  This  capacity  of 
hers  for  thrills  she  had  found  need  always  to 
keep  carefully  covered.  In  the  days  when  she 
was  a  shoeless  child — those  days  of  her  father's 
labor  in  shaft  and  dump — she  had  dimly  felt  her 
world  to  be  a  creature  of  a  keen,  a  fairly  cruel 
humor,  for  all  things  that  did  not  pertain  to  the 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

essence  of  the  life  it  struggled  for.  The  won 
der  of  the  western  flare  of  day,  the  magic  in 
the  white  eyes  of  the  stars  before  sunrise,  the 
mystery  in  the  pulse  of  the  pounding  mine  heard 
in  the  dark — of  such  it  had  been  as  ruthless  as 
this  new  world  that  looked  as  narrowly  forth  at 
as  starved  a  prospect  with  even  keener  ridicule. 
Instinctively  she  had  turned  to  both  the  hard, 
bright  face  they  required.  It  seemed  that  in 
the  world  at  large  this  faculty  of  hers  was  queer. 
And  to  be  queer,  to  have  anything  that  other 
people  had  not,  except  money,  was  to  be  open 
to  suspicion.  And  yet  from  the  first  she  had  had 
to  be  queer. 

Fatherless,  motherless,  alone  upon  the  pin 
nacle  of  her  fortune,  she  had  known  that  such 
an  extraordinary  entrance,  even  at  this  rather 
wide  social  portal,  would  only  be  acceptable  if 
toned  down,  glossed  over,  and  drawn  out  by  a 
personality  sufficiently  neutral,  sufficiently  po 
tent,  and  sufficiently  in  need  of  what  she  had  to 
give.  The  successive  flickers  of  the  gas-lamps 
through  the  carriage  window  made  of  Clara's 
26 


A     NAME     GOES     ROUND     A     TABLE 

profile  so  hard  and  fine  a  little  medallion  that  it 
was  impossible  to  conceive  it  in  need  of  any 
thing.  And  yet  it  was  just  their  mutual  need 
that  had  drawn  these  two  women  together,  and 
after  three  years  it  was  still  the  only  thing  that 
held  them.  As  much  of  a  fight  as  she  had  put  up 
with  the  rest — the  people  who  had  taken  her  in 
— she  had  put  up  the  hardest  with  Clara.  Yet 
of  them  all  Clara  was  the  only  one  she  had 
failed  to  capture.  Clara  was  always  there  in  the 
middle  of  her  affairs,  but  surveying  them  from  a 
distance,  and  Flora's  struggle  with  her  had  re 
solved  itself  into  the  attempt  to  keep  her  from 
seeing  too  much,  from  seeing  more  than  she  her 
self  saw.  Clara's  seeing,  thus  far,  had  always 
been  to  help,  but  Flora  sometimes  wondered 
whether  in  an  emergency  this  help  could  be  de 
pended  on — whether  Clara  could  give  anything 
without  exacting  a  price. 

Their  dubious  intimacy  had  created  for  Flora 

a  special  sort  of  loneliness — a  loneliness  which 

lacked  the  security  of  solitude ;  and  it  was  partly 

as  an  escape  from  this  that  she  had  accepted 

27 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

Harry  Cressy.  By  herself  she  could  never  have 
escaped.  The  initiative  was  not  hers.  But  he 
had  presented  himself,  he  had  insisted,  had  over 
ruled  her  objections,  had  captured  her  before 
she  knew  whether  she  wanted  it  or  not — and  held 
her  now,  fascinated  by  his  very  success  in  cap 
turing  her,  and  by  his  beautiful  ruddy  mascu 
linity.  She  did  not  ask  herself  whether  women 
ever  married  for  greater  reasons  than  these.  She 
only  wondered  sometimes  if  he  did  not  stand  out 
more  brilliantly  against  Clara  and  the  others 
than  he  intrinsically  was.  But  these  moments 
when  she  was  obliged  to  defend  him  to  herself 
were  always  when  he  was  not  with  her.  Even  in 
the  dusky  carriage  she  had  been  as  aware  of  the 
splendor  of  his  attraction  as  now  when  they  had 
stopped  between  the  high  lamps  of  the  club  en 
trance,  and  she  saw  clearly  the  broad  lines  of  his 
shoulders  and  the  stoop  of  his  square-set  head  as 
he  stepped  swingingly  to  the  pavement.  After 
all,  she  ought  to  be  glad  to  think  that  he  was 
going  to  stand  up  as  tall  and  protectingly  be 
tween  her  and  the  world,  as  now  he  did  between 
28 


A     NAME     GOES     ROUND     A     TABLE 

her  and  the  press  of  people  which,  like  a  tide  of 
water,  swept  them  forward  down  the  hall,  sucked 
them  back  in  its  eddy,  and  finally  cast  them, 
ruffled  like  birds  that  have  ridden  a  storm,  on  the 
more  generous  space  of  the  wide,  upward  stair. 

From  here,  looking  down  on  the  current 
sweeping  past  them,  the  little  islands  of  black 
coats  seemed  fairly  drowned  in  the  feminine  sea 
around  them — the  flow  of  white,  of  pale  blue  and 
rose,  and  the  high  chatter,  like  a  cage  of  birds, 
that  for  the  evening  held  possession. 

"Ladies'  Night!"  Harry  Cressy  mopped  his 
flushed  face.  "It's  awful !" 

Flora  laughed  in  the  effervescence  of  her 
spirits.  She  wanted  to  know,  teasingly,  as  they 
mounted,  if  this  were  why  he  had  brought  two 
more  to  add  to  the  lot.  He  only  looked  at  her, 
with  his  short  note  of  laughter  that  made  her 
keenly  conscious  of  his  right  to  be  proud  of 
her.  She  was  proud  of  herself,  inasmuch  as  her 
self  was  shown  in  the  long  trail  of  daring  blue 
her  gown  made  up  the  stair,  and  the  powdery 
blue  of  the  aigrette  that  shivered  in  her  bright, 
29 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

soft  puffs  and  curls — proud  that  her  daring,  as 
it  appeared  in  these  things,  was  still  discriminat 
ing  enough  to  make  her  right. 

She  could  recall  a  time  when  she  had  not  even 
been  quite  sure  of  her  clothes.  Not  Clara's  sub 
dued  rustle  at  her  side  could  make  her  doubt 
them  now ;  but  her  security  was  still  recent 
enough  to  be  sometimes  conscious  of  itself.  It 
was  so  short  a  time  since  all  these  talking 
groups,  that  made  a  personage  of  her,  had  had 
the  power  to  put  her  quite  out  of  countenance. 
The  women  who  craned  over  their  shoulders  to 
speak  to  her — how  hard  she  had  had  to  work  to 
make  them  see  her  at  all!  And  now  she  did  not 
know  which  she  felt  more  like  laughing  at,  her 
self  or  them,  for  having  taken  it  so  seriously. 
For,  when  one  thought  of  it,  wasn't  it  absurd 
that  people  out  of  nowhere  should  suppose  them 
selves  exclusive?  And  people  out  of  nowhere 
they  were,  herself  and  all  the  rest  of  them. 
From  causes  not  far  dissimilar  they  had  drifted 
or  scrambled  to  where  they  now  stood.  It  was 
a  question  of  squatter  rights.  The  first  on  the 
30 


A     NAME     GOES     ROUND     A     TABLE 

ground  were  dictators,  and  how  long  they  could 
hold  their  claim  against  invaders  a  dubious  cast 
of  fate.  For  there  were  for  ever  fresh  invasions, 
and  departures ;  swift  risings  from  obscurity, 
sudden  fallings  back  into  oblivion,  brilliant 
shootings  through  of  strange  meteors ;  and  in 
the  tide  of  fluctuation,  the  things  that  were  es 
tablished  or  traditional  upon  this  coast  of  chance 
were  mere  islands  in  the  wash  of  ocean.  It  was 
amazing,  it  was  almost  frightening,  the  fluid, 
unstable  quality  of  life ;  the  rapid,  inconsequent 
changes ;  yet  it  was  also  this  very  quality  of 
transformation  that  most  stirred  and  delighted 
her. 

And  to-night  it  was  not  the  picture  exhibi 
tion,  nor  the  function  itself  that  elated  her,  but 
the  fancy  she  had  as  she  looked  over  the  mov 
ing  mass  below  her  that  the  crowning  excitement 
of  the  day,  the  vanishing  mystery,  hovered  over 
them  all.  It  was  fantastic,  but  it  persisted ;  for 
had  not  the  Chatworth  ring  itself  proved  that 
the  most  ordinary  appearances  might  cover  un- 
imagined  wonders  ?  Which  of  those  bland,  satis- 
31 


fied  faces  might  not  change  shockingly  at  the 
whisper  "Chatworth"  in  its  ear?  She  wanted  to 
confide  the  naughty  thought  to  Harry.  But  no, 
he  wasn't  the  one.  If  Harry  were  apprehensive 
of  anything  at  all  it  was  only  of  being  caught 
in  too  hot  a  crush.  He  saw  no  possibilities  in 
the  mob  below  except  boredom.  He  saw  no  possi 
bilities  in  the  evening  but  his  conventional  duty ; 
and  Flora  could  read  in  his  eye  his  intention  of 
getting  through  that  as  comfortably  as  possible. 
His  suggestion  that  they  have  a  look  at  the  pic 
tures  brought  the  two  women's  eyes  together  in  a 
rare  gleam  of  mutual  mirth.  They  knew  he  sus 
pected  that  the  picture  gallery  would  be  the 
emptiest  place  in  the  club,  since  to  have  a  look  at 
the  pictures  was  what  they  were  all  supposed  to 
be  there  for.  That  was  so  infallibly  the  note  of 
their  life,  Flora  thought,  as  she  followed  up  the 
wide  sweep  of  the  middle  stair,  and  along  the 
high-ceiled,  gilded  hall  whose  open  arches  over 
looked  the  rooms  below. 

The  picture   gallery  was  new,   an  addition; 
and  the  plain,  narrow,  unexpected  door  in  this 


A     NAME     GOES     ROUND     A     TABLE 

place,  where  all  was  high,  arched,  elaborate  and 
flourished,  was  like  a  loophole  through  which  to 
slip  into  a  foreign  atmosphere.  This  atmosphere 
was  resinous  of  fresh  wood;  the  light  was  thick 
with  drifting  motes ;  the  carpets  harshly  new, 
slipping  beneath  the  feet  on  the  too  polished 
floor;  the  bare  bones  of  the  place  yet  scarcely 
covered.  But  its  quiet  was  after  all  comparative. 
There  were  plenty  of  people  lingering  in  groups 
in  the  center  of  the  gallery  which  was  dusky, 
eclipsed  by  the  great  reflectors  that  circled  the 
room,  throwing  out  the  pictures  in  a  bright  band 
of  color  around  the  walls.  People  leaning  from 
this  border  of  light  back  into  the  dusk  to  mur 
mur  together,  vanished  and  reappeared  with  such 
fascinating  abruptness  that  Flora  caught  her 
self  guessing  what  sort  of  face,  where  this 
nearest  group  stood  just  on  the  edge  of  shadow, 
would  pop  out  of  the  dark  next. 

She  was  ready  for  something  extraordinary, 

but  now,  when  it  came,  she  was  taken  aback  by 

it.    It  gave  her  a  start,  that  toss  of  black  hair, 

that  long,  irregular,  pale  face  whose  scintillant, 

33 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

sardonic  smile  was  mercilessly  upon  the  poor, 
inadequate  picture-face  fronting  him.  His  stoop 
above  the  rail  was  so  abrupt  that  his  long,  lean 
back  was  almost  horizontal,  jet  even  thus  there 
was  something  elegant  in  the  swing  of  him — in 
the  careless  twist  of  his  head,  around,  to  speak 
to  the  woman  behind  him.  The  light  above  struck 
blind  on  the  glass  in  one  eye,  but  the  other 
danced  with  a  genial,  a  mad  scintillation.  The 
light  of  it  caught  like  contagion,  and  touched 
the  merest  glancer  at  him  with  the  spark  of  its 
warm,  ironic  mirth.  The  question  which  natur 
ally  rose  to  Flora's  lips — "Who  in  the  world  is 
that?" — she  checked;  why,  she  didn't  ask  her 
self.  She  only  felt  as  she  followed  Clara,  trail 
ing  away  across  the  floor,  that  the  interest  of  the 
evening  which  had  promised  so  well,  beginning 
with  the  Chatworth  ring,  had  been  raised  even  a 
note  higher.  Her  restive  fancy  was  beginning 
again.  All  the  footlights  of  her  little  secret 
stage  were  up. 

Clara  turned  to  the  right,  following  a  beckon 
ing  fan,  and  Flora,  dallying  with  her  anticipa- 
34 


A     NA'ME     GOES     ROUND     A     TABLE 

tion,  reasoned  that  now  they  must  circle  the 
room  before  they  should  face  him — the  interest 
ing  apparition.  It  was  a  pilgrimage  of  which 
he  on  the  other  side  was  performing  his  half. 
Perfunctorily  talking  from  group  to  group, 
conscious  now  and  again  of  the  lagging  Clara 
or  Harry,  she  could  nevertheless  keep  a  sly  eye 
on  the  stranger's  equal  progress.  The  flash  of 
jet,  and  the  voluble,  substantial  shoulders  of  the 
lady  so  profusely  introducing  him,  were  an  as 
surance  of  how  that  pilgrimage  would  terminate, 
since  it  was  Ella  Buller  who  was  parading  him. 
She  even  wondered  before  which  of  the  florid 
pictures  at  the  far,  other  end  of  the  room,  as 
before  a  shrine,  the  ceremony  would  take  place. 

She  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  paintings  be 
fore  her,  and  as  she  moved  down  from  one  to 
another,  and  the  voices  of  the  approaching 
group  drew  nearer,  one  separated  itself  from 
the  general  murmur,  so  clear,  so  resonantly 
carried,  so  clean-clipped  off  the  tongue,  that  it 
stood  out  in  syllables  on  the  blur  of  sound  which 
was  Ella  Buller's  conversation.  It  had  color, 
35 


that  voice;  it  had  a  quality  so  sharp,  so  indi 
vidual  that  it  touched  her  with  a  mischievous 
wonder  that  he  dared  speak  so  differently  from 
all  the  world  about  him.  Then,  six  pictures 
away,  she  heard  her  own  name. 

"Why,  Flora  Gilsey !"  It  was  Ella's  husky, 
boyish  note.  "I've  been  looking  for  you  all  the 
evening!  How  d'y'do,  Harry?"  She  waved  her 
hand  at  him.  "Why,  how  d'y'do,  Mrs.  Britton? 
I  wouldn't  let  papa  go  to  supper  until  I'd  found 
you.  'Papa,'  I  said,  'wait ;  Flora  and  Harry  will 
be  here.'  Besides,"  she  had  quite  reached  Flora's 
side  by  this  time  and  communicated  it  in  an  im 
pressive  whisper,  "I  want  you  to  meet  my  Eng 
lishman."  She  looked  over  her  shoulder,  and 
largely  beckoned  to  where  the  blunt  and  florid 
Buller  and  his  companion,  with  their  backs  to 
what  they  were  supposed  to  be  looking  at,  were 
exchanging  an  anecdote  of  infinite  amusement. 

Buller's  expression  came  around  slowly  to  his 
daughter's  beckoning  hand,  but  the  English 
man's  face  seemed  to  flash  at  the  instant  from 
what  he  was  enjoying  to  what  was  expected  of 
36 


A     NAME     GOES     ROUND     A     TABLF 

him.  In  the  flourish  of  introductions,  across  and 
across,  Flora  found  herself  thinking  the  reality 
less  extraordinary  than  she  had  at  first  supposed. 
Now  that  Mr.  Kerr  was  fairly  before  her,  pre 
sented  to  her,  and  taking  her  in  with  the  same 
lively,  impersonal  interest  with  which  he  took 
in  the  whole  room,  "as  if,"  she  put  it  vexedly  to 
herself,  "I  were  a  specimen  poked  at  him  on  the 
end  of  a  pin,"  it  stirred  in  her  a  vague  resent 
ment  ;  and  involuntarily  she  held  him  up  to 
Harry.  The  comparison  showed  him  a  little 
worn,  a  little  battered,  a  little  too  perfunctory 
in  manner;  but  his  genial  eyes,  deep  under 
threatening  brows,  made  Harry's  eyes  seem  to 
stare  rather  coldly;  and  the  fine  form  of  his 
long,  plain  face,  and  the  sensitive  line  of  his 
long  thin  lips  made  Harry's  beauty  look, — well, 
how  did  it  look  ?  Hardly  callous. 

This  mixed  impression  the  two  men  gave  her 
was  disconcerting.  She  was  all  the  more  ready 
to  be  wary  of  the  stranger.  She  had  begun  with 
him  in  the  way  she  did  with  every  one — instinc 
tively  throwing  out  a  breastwork  of  conversa- 
37 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

tion  from  behind  which  she  could  observe  the 
enemy.  But  though  he  had  blinked  at  it,  he  had 
not  taken  her  up,  nor  helped  her  out;  but  had 
merely  stood  with  his  head  a  little  canted  for 
ward,  as  if  he  watched  her  through  her  defenses. 

"But  San  Francisco  must  seem  so  limited  after 
London,"  she  had  wound  up ;  and  the  way  he 
had  considered  it,  a  little  humorously,  down  his 
long  nose,  made  her  doubt  the  interest  of  cities 
to  be  reckoned  in  round  numbers. 

"It's  all  extraordinary,"  he  said.  "You're 
quite  as  extraordinary  in  your  way  as  we  in 
ours." 

"Oh,"  she  wondered,  still  vexed  with  his  in 
ventory,  "I  had  always  supposed  us  awfully 
commonplace.  What  is  our  way,  please?" 

"Ah,"  he  said,  measuring  his  long  step  to  hers 
as  they  sauntered  a  little,  "for  one  thing,  you're 
so  awfully  good  to  a  fellow.  In  London" — and 
he  nodded  back,  as  if  London  were  merely  across 
the  room — "they're  awfully  good  to  the  some 
bodies.  It's  the  way  you  take  in  the  nobodies 
over  here  that  is  so  astonishing — the  stray 
38 


A     NAME     GOES     ROUND     A     TABLE 

leaves  that  blow  in  with  your  'trade,'  and  can't 
show  any  credentials  but  a  letter  or  two,  and 
their  faces ;  and  those" — his  diablerie  danced 
out  again — "sometimes  such  deucedly  damaged 
ones." 

It  was  almost  indecent,  this  parade  of  his  non 
entity  !  She  wanted  to  say,  "Oh,  hush !  Those 
are  the  things  one  only  enjoys — never  talks 
about."  But  instead,  somewhere  up  at  the  top 
of  her  voice,  she  said:  "Oh,  we  always  lock  up 
our  silver!" 

"But  even  then,"  he  quizzed  her,  "I  wonder 
how  you  dare  to  do  it  ?" 

"Perhaps  we  have  to,  because  we  ourselves  are 
all — "  ("without  any  credentials  but  those  you 
mention,"  )  she  had  been  about  to  say — but  there 
she  caught  herself  on  the  very  edge  of  giving 
herself  and  all  the  rest  of  them  away  to  him ; 
" — all  so  awfully  bored,"  she  mischievously 
ended  with  the  daintiest,  faintest  possible  yawn 
behind  her  spread  fan. 

He  looked  as  if  she  had  taken  him  by  surprise ; 
then  laughed  out.  "Oh,  that  is  the  way  they 
39 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

don't  do  here,"  he  provoked  her.  "You  mustn't, 
when  I'm  not  expecting  it." 

"Then  what  are  you  expecting  ?"  she  inquired 
a  little  coolly. 

"Well,"  he  deliberated,  "not  expecting  you  to 
get  me  ready  for  a  sweet,  and  then  pop  in  a 
pickle;  and  presently  expecting,  hoping,  anx 
iously  anticipating,  what  you  really  care  to  say." 

He  was  expecting,  she  looked  maliciously, 
more  than  he  was  likely  to  get ;  but  the  fact  that 
he  did  see  through  her  to  that  extent  was  at  once 
delightful  and  alarming.  She  swayed  back  into 
the  shadow  beyond  the  dazzling  line  of  light. 
She  wanted  to  escape  his  scrutiny,  to  be  able  to 
look  him  over  from  a  safe  vantage-ground.  But 
he  wouldn't  have  it.  An  instant  he  stood  under 
the  torrent  of  white  radiance,  challenging  her 
to  see  what  she  could — then  followed  her  into 
her  retreat.  "Shall  we  sit  here?"  he  said,  and 
she  found  herself  hopelessly  cut  off  and  isolated 
with  the  enemy. 

She  couldn't  withhold  a  little  grudging  pleas 
ure  in  the  sharpness  with  which  he  had  turned 
40 


A     NAME     GOES     ROUND     A     TABLE 

her  maneuver,  and  the  way  it  had  detached  them 
from  the  surrounding  crowd.  For  there,  in  the 
dusky  center  of  the  room,  it  was  as  if  they 
watched  from  safe  covert  the  rest  of  their  party 
exposed  in  the  glare  of  light;  though  not,  as 
Flora  presently  noted,  quite  escaping  observa 
tion  themselves.  For  an  instant  Harry  turned 
and  peered  toward  them  with  a  look  in  his  in- 
tentness  that  struck  Flora  as  something  new  in 
him,  and  made  her  wonder  if  he  could  be  jealous. 
She  turned  tentatively  to  see  if  Kcrr  had  noticed 
it,  and  surprised  his  glance  in  a  quick  transition 
back  to  hers. 

"By  your  leave,"  he  said,  and  took  away  her 
fan,  which  in  his  hand  presently  assumed  such 
rhythmic  motion  that  it  ceased  to  be  any  more 
present  to  her  than  a  delicate  current  of  air  upon 
her  face.  Her  face,  which  in  the  first  place  he 
had  so  well  looked  over,  he  now  looked  into  with 
something  more  personal  in  his  quest,  as  if  un 
der  the  low  brows  and  crowding  lashes  there  was 
a  puzzle  to  solve  in  the  timid,  unassured  glances 
of  such  splendid  eyes. 

41 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

He  was  not,  she  felt  sure,  in  spite  of  his  light 
manipulation  of  her  fan,  a  person  who  cared  to 
please  women,  but  one  of  that  devastating  sort 
who  care  above  everything  to  please  themselves, 
and  who  are  skilful  without  practice;  too  skil 
ful,  she  feared,  for  her  defenses  to  hold  out 
against  if  he  intended  to  find  out  what  she  really 
thought.  "Aren't  we  supposed  to  be  looking  at 
the  pictures?"  she  wanted  to  know. 

He  turned  his  back  on  the  wall  and  its  attend 
ant  glare.  "Why  pictures,"  he  inquired,  "when 
there  are  live  people  to  look  at?  Pictures  for 
places  where  they're  all  half  dead.  But  here, 
where  even  the  damnable  dust  in  the  street  is 
alive,  why  should  they  paint,  or  write,  or  sculpt, 
or  do  anything  but  live?"  His  irascible  brows 
shot  the  query  at  her. 

Again  the  proposition  of  life — whatever  that 
was — was  held  up  before  her,  and  as  ever  she 
faltered  in  the  face  of  it.  "I  suppose  they  do  it 
here,"  she  murmured,  with  a  vague  glance  at 
the  paintings  around  her,  "because  people  do  it 
everywhere  else." 


A     NAME     GOES     ROUND     A     TABLE 

His  disparagement  was  almost  a  snarl. 
"That's  the  rotten  part  of  it — because  they  do 
it  everywhere  else !  As  if  there  wasn't  enough 
monotony  in  the  world  already  without  every 
chap  trying  to  be  like  the  next  instead  of  be 
ing  himself !" 

"Ah !"  Her  small,  uncertain  smile  in  the  midst 
of  her  outward  splendor  was  pathetic.  "But  it 
is  different  to  you.  You're  a  man.  You're  not 
one  of  us." 

"One  of  what?  I'm  a  man.  I'm  myself. 
Which,  pardon  me,  dear  lady,  is  just  what  you 
won't  be — yourself." 

"But  if  you  have  to  be  what  people  expect?" 
She  clung  to  her  first  principle  of  safety  in  the 
midst  of  this  onslaught. 

"People  don't  want  what  they  expect — if  you 
care  for  that."  He  waved  it  away  with  his  quick, 
white  hand. 

"But  you  have  to  care,  unless  you  want  to  be 
queer."  Her  poor  little  secret  was  out  before  she 
knew,  and  he  looked  at  it,  laughing  immoder 
ately,  yet  somehow  delightfully. 
43 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

"Ah,  if  you  think  the  social  game  is  the  game 
that  counts!  I  had  expected  braver  things  of 
you.  The  game  that  counts,  my  girl,"  he 
preached  it  at  her  with  his  long  white  hand, 
"the  game  that  is  going  on  out  here  is  the  big, 
red  game  of  life.  That's  the  only  one  that's 
worth  a  guinea;  and  there's  no  winning  or  los 
ing,  there's  no  right  or  wrong  to  it,  and  it 
doesn't  matter  what  a  man  is  in  it  as  long  as 
he's  a  good  one." 

"Even  if  he  is  a  thief?"  The  question  was  out 
of  Flora's  lips  before  she  could  catch  it.  It  was 
a  challenge.  She  had  meant  to  confound  him; 
but  he  caught  it  as  if  it  delighted  him. 

"Well,  what  would  you  think?" 

He  threw  it  back  at  her. 

What  hadn't  she  thought!  How  persistently 
her  fancy  had  played  with  the  question  .of  what 
sort  of  man  that  one  might  be  who  had  so  won 
derfully  put  his  hand  under  a  glass  case  and 
drawn  out  the  Chatworth  ring.  Why,  out 
wardly,  he  must  have  been  like  all  the  crowd 
around  him,  to  have  escaped  unnoticed;  but,  in- 
44 


A     NAME     GOES     ROUND     A     TABLE 

wardly,  how  much  superior  in  power  and  skill  to 
have  so  completely  overreached  them! 

"Oh,"  she  laughed  dubiously,  "I  suppose  he 
is  a  good  one  as  long  as  he  isn't  caught." 

"What !"  His  face  disowned  her.  "You  think 
he's  a  renegade,  do  you?  A  chap  in  perpetual 
flight,  taking  things  because  he  has  to,  more  or 
less  pursued  by  the  law?  Bah!  It's  a  guild  as 
old,  and  a  deal  more  honorable,  than  the  beg 
gar's.  Your  good  thief  is  born  to  it.  It's  his 
caste.  It's  in  his  blood.  It  isn't  money  that  he 
wants.  If  he  had  a  million  he'd  be  the  same. 
And  it  isn't  a  mania  either.  It's  a  profession." 
The  Englishman  leaned  back  and  smiled  at  her 
over  the  elegance  of  his  long,  joined  finger 
tips. 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  delighted  alarm, 
with  an  increasing  elation;  but  whether  these 
arose  from  his  lawless  declarations  and  the  sin 
gular  way  they  kept  setting  before  her  more 
vividly  moment  by  moment  the  possible  character 
of  the  present  keeper  of  the  Chatworth  ring,  or 
whether  it  was  just  the  sight  of  Kerr  himself  as 
45 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

he  sat  there  that  stirred  her,  she  didn't  try  to 
distinguish. 

"But  suppose  he  was  your  own  thief,"  she 
urged;  "took  your  own  things,  I  mean,"  she 
hastily  amended,  "and  suppose  he  turned  out  to 
be — some  one  you  knew  and  liked — "  She  hesi 
tated.  She  had  come  at  last  to  what  she  really 
wanted  to  say.  She  had  brought  out  a  question 
that  had  been  teasing  her  fancy  at  intervals  all 
the  while  he  had  been  talking,  and  he  hadn't 
even  heard  it.  He  wasn't  even  looking  at  her. 
She  had  caught  him  off  his  guard.  He  was  look 
ing  across  her  shoulder  straight  down  the  dim 
vista  of  the  room  to  the  little  blaze  of  bordering 
light.  He  was  looking  at  Harry.  No,  Harry 
was  looking  at  him.  Harry  was  looking  with  a 
steady,  an  intent  gaze,  and  Kerr  meeting  it — it 
might  have  been  merely  the  blank  glare  of  his 
monocle — seemed,  to  Flora,  to  meet  it  a  little  in 
solently.  She  fancied  in  the  instant  something 
to  pass  between  the  two  men,  something  which, 
this  time,  she  did  not  mistake  for  jealousy — a 
shade  too  dim  for  defiance  or  suspicion,  a  deep 
46 


A     NAME     GOES     ROUND     A     TABLE 

scrutiny  that  struggled  to  place  something, 
some  one. 

Flora  felt  a  sudden  wish  to  break  that  curious 
scrutiny.  It  had  broken  her  little  moment.  It 
had  shattered  the  personal,  almost  intimate  note 
that  had  been  sounded  between  them.  The  look 
Kerr  turned  back  to  her  was  vague,  and  stirred 
in  her  a  dim  resentment  that  he  could  drop  it 
all  so  easily. 

"Shall  we  join  the  others?"  It  was  the  voice 
with  which  she  had  begun  with  him,  but  her  eyes 
were  hot  through  their  light  mist  of  lashes,  and 
he  threw  her  a  comprehending  glance  of  amuse 
ment. 

"Oh,  no,"  he  assured  her,  "we  can't  help  our 
selves.  They  are  going  to  join  us." 

Ella  Buller,  in  the  van  of  her  procession,  was 
already  descending  upon  them.  Her  approach 
dissipated  the  last  remnant  of  their  personal  mo 
ment.  Her  presence  always  insisted  that  there 
was  nothing  worth  while  but  instant  participa 
tion  in  her  geniality,  and  whatever  subject  it 
might  at  the  moment  be  taken  up  with.  This 
47 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

conviction  of  Ella's  had  been  wont  to  overawe 
Flora,  and  it  still  overwhelmed  her ;  so  that  now, 
as  she  followed  in  the  tail  of  Ella's  marshaled 
force,  she  had  a  guilty  feeling  that  there  should 
be  nothing  in  her  mind  but  a  normal  desire  for 
supper. 

Yet  all  the  way  down  the  great  stair,  "the  Cor 
ridors  of  Time,"  where  the  white  owl  glared  his 
glassy  wisdom  on  the  passings  and  counter-pass 
ings,  she  was  haunted  with  the  thought  that 
Harry  had  seen  the  extraordinary  Kerr  before; 
not  shaken  hands  with  him,  perhaps — perhaps 
not  even  heard  his  name;  but  somewhere,  across 
some  distance,  once  glimpsed  him,  and  had  never 
quite  shaken  the  memory  from  his  mind.  For 
there  was  something  marked,  notable,  unforget- 
able  in  that  lean  distinctiveness.  Against  the 
sleek  form  of  the  men  they  met  and  shook  hands 
with,  he  flashed  out — seemed  in  contrast  fairly 
electric.  She  saw  him,  just  ahead  of  her  where 
the  crowd  was  thickening  in  the  door  of  the  sup 
per-room,  making  way  for  Clara  through  the 
press  with  that  exasperating  solicitude  of  his 
48 


A     NAME     GOES     ROUND     A     TABLE 

that  was  half  ironic.  And  the  large  broadside 
offered  by  her  elegant  Harry,  matter-of-factly 
towing  Ella  by  the  elbow,  herself  conscious  of  a 
curl  or  two  awry,  and  Judge  Buller  tramping 
heavily  at  her  side,  all  took  on  to  her  the  aspect 
of  a  well-chosen  peep-show  with  the  satanic  Kerr 
officiating  as  showman.  Even  the  smooth  and 
pallid  Clara,  who  usually  coerced  by  her  sheer 
correctness,  failed  to  dominate  this  fantastic 
image;  rather,  she  took  on,  as  she  was  handed 
into  the  supper-room,  the  aspect  of  his  chief 
exhibit. 

The  room,  hot,  polished,  flaring  reflections  of 
electric  lights  from  its  glistening  floor,  an 
nounced  itself  the  heart  of  high  festivity, 
through  the  midst  of  which  their  entrance  made 
an  added  ripple.  The  flushed  faces  of  the 
women  under  their  flowers,  under  their  pale- 
tinted  hats,  with  their  smiling  recognitions  to 
Clara,  to  Flora,  to  Ella,  smiled  with  a  sharpened 
interest.  It  proclaimed  that  Kerr  was  a  stran 
ger,  and,  in  a  circle  which  found  itself  a  little 
stale  for  lack  of  innovations,  a  desirable  one. 
49 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

Exclamatory  greetings,  running  into  skirmishes 
of  talk,  here  and  there  halted  their  progress,  and 
even  after  they  had  settled  about  their  table  in 
the  center  of  the  room  the  attention  of  one  and 
another  was  drawn  over  the  shoulder  to  some 
special,  trans-table  recognition. 

Apparently  the  dominant  note  of  their  party 
was  Ella's  clamorous  selection  for  the  supper; 
but  to  Flora  the  more  real  thing  was  the  at 
mosphere  of  excitement  and  mystery  she  had 
been  moving  in  all  the  evening.  She  was  pursued 
by  the  obsession  of  something  more  about  to  hap 
pen — something  imminent — though,  of  course, 
nothing  would ;  at  least,  how  could  anything  hap 
pen  here,  to  them?  And  by  "them,"  she  meant 
herself  and  these  people  around  her  so  stupidly 
talking — the  eternal  repetition  of  the  story  she 
had  read  out  that  evening  to  Clara,  and  not  one 
glimmer  of  light !  She  wondered  if  her  obsession 
was  all  her  own — or  did  it  reach  to  one  of  them  ? 
Certainly  not  Ella;  not  Judge  Buller,  settled 
into  his  collar,  choosing  champagnes.  Clara? 
She  had  to  skip  Clara.  One  never  knew  whether 
50 


A     NAME     GOES     ROUND     A     TABLE 

Clara  had  not  more  behind  her  smooth  prettiness 
than  ever  she  brought  to  light.  Kerr?  Perhaps. 
With  him  she  felt  potentialities  enormous. 
Harry?  Never.  Harry  was  being  appealed  to 
by  all  the  women  who  could  get  at  him  as  to  his 
part  in  the  affair — what  had  been  his  sensations 
and  emotions  ?  But  Flora  knew  perfectly  well  he 
had  had  none.  He  was  only  oppressed  by  the  at 
tention  his  fame  in  the  matter,  and  the  central 
position  of  their  table,  brought  upon  him.  Pro 
testing,  he  made  his  part  as  small  as  possible. 

"Oh,  confound  it,  if  I  can't  get  at  my  oys 
ters!"  he  complained,  leaning  back  into  his 
group  again  with  a  sigh. 

"You  divide  the  honors  with  the  mysterious  un 
known,  eh?"  Kerr  inquired  across  the  table. 

"Hang  it,  there's  no  division !  I'd  offer  you  a 
share !"  Harry  laughed,  and  it  occurred  to  Flora 
how  much  Kerr  could  have  made  of  it. 

"Purdie'd  like  to  share  something,"  Buller 
vouchsafed.  "He's  been  pawing  the  air  ever 
since  Crew  cabled,  and  this  has  blown  him  up 
completely." 

51 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

"Crew?"  Flora  wondered.  Here  was  some 
thing  more  happening.  Crew?  She  had  not 
heard  that  name  before.  It  made  a  stir  among 
them  all ;  but  if  Kerr  looked  sharp,  Clara  looked 
sharper.  She  looked  at  Harry  and  Harry  was 
vexed. 

"Who's  Crew?"  said  Ella;  and  the  judge 
looked  around  on  the  silence. 

"Why,  bless  my  soul,  isn't  it —  Oh,  anyway, 
it  will  all  be  out  to-morrow.  But  I  thought 
Harry'd  told  you.  The  Chatworth  ring  wasn't 
Bessie's." 

It  had  the  effect  of  startling  them  all  apart, 
and  then  drawing  them  closer  together  again 
around  the  table  over  the  uncorked  bottles. 

"Why,"  Judge  Buller  went  on,  "this  ring  is  a 
celebrated  thing.  It's  the  'Crew  Idol'!"  He 
threw  the  name  out  as  if  that  in  itself  explained 
everything,  but  the  three  women,  at  least,  were 
blank. 

"Why  celebrated?"  Clara  objected.  "The 
stones  were  only  sapphires." 

Kerr  smiled  at  this  measure  of  fame, 
52 


A     NAME     GOES     ROUND     A     TABLE 

"Quite  so,"  he  nodded  to  her,  "but  there  are 
several  sorts  of  value  about  that  ring.  Its  age, 
for  one." 

He  had  the  attention  of  the  table,  as  if  they 
sensed  behind  his  words  more  even  than  Judge 
Buller  could  have  told  them. 

"And  then  the  superstition  about  it.  It's 
rather  a  pretty  tale,"  said  Kerr,  looking  at 
Flora.  "You've  seen  the  ring — a  figure  of 
Vishnu  bent  backward  into  a  circle,  with  a  head 
of  sapphire;  two  yellow  stones  for  the  cheeks 
and  the  brain  of  him  of  the  one  blue.  Just  as  a 
piece  of  carving  it  is  so  fine  that  Cellini  couldn't 
have  equaled  it,  but  no  one  knows  when  or  where 
it  was  made.  The  first  that  is  known,  the  Shah 
Jehan  had  it  in  his  treasure-house.  The  story 
is  he  stole  it,  but,  however  that  may  be,  he  gave 
it  as  a  betrothal  gift  to  his  wife — possibly  the 
most  beautiful" — his  eyebrows  signaled  to  Flora 
his  uncertainty  of  that  fact — "without  doubt 
the  best-loved  woman  in  the  world.  When  she 
died  it  was  buried  with  her — not  in  the  tomb  it 
self,  but  in  the  Taj  Mehal;  and  for  a  century 
53 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

or  so  it  lay  there  and  gathered  legends  about  it 
as  thick  as  dust.  It  was  believed  to  be  a  talis 
man  of  good  fortune — especially  in  love. 

"It  had  age;  it  had  intrinsic  value;  it  had 
beauty,  and  that  one  other  quality  no  man  can 
resist — it  was  the  only  thing  of  its  kind  in  the 
world.  At  all  events,  it  was  too  much  for  old 
Neville  Crew,  when  he  saw  it  there  some  couple 
of  hundred  years  ago.  When  he  left  India  the 
ring  went  with  him.  He  never  told  how  he  got 
it,  but  lucky  marriages  came  with  it,  and  the 
Crews  would  not  take  the  House  of  Lords  for  it. 
Their  women  have  worn  it  ever  since." 

For  a  moment  the  wonder  of  the  tale  and  the 
curious  spark  of  excitement  it  had  produced  in 
the  teller  kept  the  listeners  silent.  Clara  was 
the  first  to  return  to  facts.  "Then  Bessie — " 
she  prompted  eagerly. 

Kerr  turned  his  glass  in  meditative  fingers. 
"She  wore  it  as  young  Chatworth's  wife."  He 
held  them  all  in  an  increasing  tension,  as  if  he 
drew  them  toward  him. 

"The  elder  Chatworth,  Lord  Crew,  is  a  bache- 
54 


A     NAME     GOES     ROUND     A     TABLE 

lor,  but,  of  course,  the  ring  reverted  to  him  on 
Chatworth's  death." 

"And  Lord  only  knows,"  the  judge  broke  in, 
"how  it  got  shipped  with  Bessie's  property. 
Crew  was  out  of  England  at  the  time.  He  kept 
the  wires  hot  about  it,  and  they  managed  to  keep 
the  fact  of  what  the  ring  was  quiet — but  it  got 
out  to-day  when  Purdie  found  it  was  gone.  You 
see  he  was  showing  it — and  without  special  per 
mission." 

Flora  had  a  bewildered  feeling  that  this  ju 
dicial  summing  up  of  facts  wasn't  the  sort  of 
thing  the  evening  had  led  up  to.  She  couldn't 
see,  if  this  was  what  it  amounted  to,  why  Harry 
had  changed  his  mind  about  telling  them  at  the 
dinner  table.  She  could  not  even  understand 
where  this  belonged  in  the  march  of  events  in 
their  story,  but  Clara  took  it  up,  clipped  it  out, 
and  fitted  it  into  its  place. 

"Then  there  will  be  pressure — enormous  pres 
sure,  brought  to  bear  to  recover  it  ?" 

"Oh-o-oh !"  Buller  drew  out  the  syllable  with 
unctuous  relish.  "They'll  rip  the  town  inside 
55 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

out.  They'll  do  worse.  There'll  be  a  string  of 
detectives  across  the  country — yes,  and  at  inter 
vals  to  China — so  tight  you  couldn't  step  from 
Kalamazoo  to  Oshkosh  without  running  into  one. 
The  thing  is  too  big  to  be  covered.  The  chap 
who  took  it  will  play  a  lone  game;  and  to  do 
that — Lord  knows  there  aren't  many  who  could 
— to  do  that  he'd  have  to  be  a — a — " 

"Farrell  Wand?"  Flora  flung  it  out  as  a  chal 
lenge  among  these  prosaic  people ;  but  the  effect 
of  it  was  even  sharper  than  she  had  expected. 
She  fancied  she  saw  them  all  start;  that  Harry 
squared  himself,  that  Kerr  met  it  as  if  he  swal 
lowed  it  with  almost  a  facial  grimace ;  that  Judge 
Buller  blinked  it  hard  in  the  face — the  most 
bothered  of  the  lot.  He  came  at  it  first  in  words. 

"Farrell  Wand?"  He  felt  it  over,  as  if,  like 
a  doubtful  coin,  it  might  have  rung  false.  "Now, 
what  did  I  know  of  Farrell  Wand  ?" 

"Farrell  Wand?"     Kerr  took  it  up  rapidly. 

"Why,   he   was   the   great   Johnnie   who   went 

through  the  Scotland  Yard  men  at  Perth  in  '94, 

and  got  off.    Don't  you  remember?    He  took  a 

56 


A     NAME     GOES     ROUND     A     TABLE 

great  assortment  of  things  under  the  most  pe 
culiar  circumstances — took  the  Tilton  emeralds 
off  Lady  Tilton's  neck  at  St.  James'." 

"Why,  Harry,  you — "  Flora  began.  "You 
told  us  that,"  was  what  she  had  meant  to  say, 
but  Harry  stopped  her.  Stopped  her  just  with 
a  look,  with  a  nod ;  but  it  was  as  if  he  had  shaken 
his  head  at  her.  His  tawny  lashes,  half  drooped 
over  watching  eyes,  gave  him  more  than  ever  the 
look  of  a  great,  still  cat;  a  domestic,  good-hu 
mored  cat,  but  in  sight  of  legitimate  prey.  Her 
eyes  went  back  to  Kerr  with  a  sense  of  bewilder 
ment.  His  voice  was  still  going  on,  expansively, 
brilliantly,  juggling  his  subject. 

"He  knew  them  all,  the  big-wigs  up  in  Parlia 
ment,  the  big-wigs  on  'Change,  the  little  duch 
esses  in  Mayfair,  and  they  all  liked  him,  asked 
him,  dined  him,  and — great  Scott,  they  paid! 
Paid  in  hereditary  jewels,  or  the  shock  to  their 
decency  when  the  thing  came  out — but,  poor 
devil,  so  did  he !" 

And  through  it  all  Buller  gloomed  unsmiling, 
with  out-thrust  underlip. 
57 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

"No,  no,"  he  said  slowly,  "that's  not  my  con 
nection  with  Farrell  Wand.  What  happened 
afterward?  What  did  they  do  with  him?" 

Kerr  was  silent,  and  Flora  thought  his  face 
seemed  suddenly  at  its  sharpest. 

It  was  Clara  who  answered  with  another  ques 
tion.  "Didn't  he  get  to  the  colonies  ?  Didn't  he 
die  there  ?" 

Judge  Buller  caught  it  with  a  snap  of  his 
fingers.  "Got  it!"  he  triumphed,  and  the  two 
men  turned  square  upon  him.  "They  ran  him  to 
earth  in  Australia.  That  was  the  year  I  was 
(there — '96.  I  got  a  snapshot  of  him  at  the  time." 

It  was  now  the  whole  table  that  turned  on 
him,  and  Flora  felt,  with  that  unanimous  move 
ment,  something  crucial,  the  something  that  she 
had  been  waiting  for;  and  yet  she  could  in  no 
way  connect  it  with  what  had  happened,  nor 
understand  why  Clara,  why  Harry,  why  Kerr 
above  all  should  be  so  alert.  For  more  than  all 
he  looked  expectant,  poised,  and  ready  for  what 
ever  was  coming  next. 

"What  sort  of  a  chap?"  he  mused  and  fixed 
58 


A     NAME     GOES     R  O  tf  N  D     A     TABLE 

the  judge  a  moment  with  the  same  stare  thai 
Flora  remembered  to  have  first  confronted  her. 

"What  sort?  Sort  of  a  criminal,"  the  judge 
smiled.  "They  all  look  alike." 

"Still,"  Clara  suggested,  "such  a  man  could 
hardly  have  been  ordinary — 

"In  the  chain-gang — oh,  yes,"  said  Buller 
with  conviction. 

"Oh!  Then  the  picture  wasn't  worth  any 
thing?" 

"Why,  no,"  Buller  admitted  slowly,  "though, 
come  to  think  of  it,  it  wasn't  the  chain-gang 
either.  They  were  taking  him  aboard  the  ship. 
The  crowd  was  so  thick  I  hardly  saw  him,  and — 
only  got  one  shot  at  him.  But  the  name  was  a 
queer  one.  It  stuck  in  my  mind." 

"But  then,"  Clara  insisted,  "what  became  of 
him?" 

"Oh,  gave  them  the  slip,"  the  judge  chuckled 
"He  always  did.  Reported  to  have  changed 
ships  in  mid-ocean.  Hal,  is  that  another  bottle  ?" 

Harry  stretched  his  hand  for  it,  but  it  stayed 
suspended — and,  for  an  instant,  it  seemed  as  if 
59 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

the  whole  table  waited  expectant.  Had  Buller's 
camera  caught  the  clear  face  of  Farrell  Wand, 
or  only  a  dim  figure?  Flora  wondered  if  that 
was  the  question  Harry  wanted  to  ask.  He 
wanted — and  yet  he  hesitated,  as  if  he  did  not 
quite  dare  touch  it.  He  laughed  and  filled  the 
glasses.  He  had  dropped  his  question,  and  there 
was  no  one  at  the  table  who  seemed  ready  to  put 
another. 

And  yet  there  were  questions  there,  in  all  the 
eyes  ;  but  some  impassable  barrier  seemed  to  have 
come  between  these  eager  people,  and  what,  for 
incalculable  reasons,  they  so  much  wanted  to 
know.  It  was  not  the  genial  indifference  with 
which  Buller  had  dropped  the  subject  for  the 
approaching  bottle.  It  seemed  rather  their  own 
timidity  that  withheld  them  from  touching  this 
subject  which  at  every  turn  produced  upon  some 
one  of  the  eager  three  some  fresh  startling  effect 
the  others  could  not  understand.  They  were 
restless ;  Clara  notably,  even  under  her  calm. 

Flora  knew  she  was  not  giving  up  the  quest 
of  Farrell  Wand,  but  only  setting  it  aside  with 
60 


A     NAME     GOES     ROUND     A     TABLE 

her  unfailing  thrift,  which  saved  everything. 
But  why,  in  this  case?  And  Harry,  who  had 
been  so  merry  with  the  mystery  at  dinner — why 
had  he  suddenly  tried  to  suppress  her,  to  want 
to  ignore  the  whole  business ;  why  had  he  hesi 
tated  over  his  question,  and  finally  let  it  fall? 
And  why,  above  all,  was  Kerr  so  brilliantly  talk 
ing  at  Ella,  in  the  same  way  he  had  begun  at 
Flora  herself?  Talking  at  Ella  as  if  he  hardly 
saw  her,  but  like  some  magician  flinging  out  a 
brilliant  train  of  pyrotechnics  to  hypnotize  the 
senses,  before  he  proceeds  with  his  trick.  And 
the  way  Ella  was  looking  at  him — her  bewil 
dered  alacrity,  the  way  she  was  struggling  with 
what  was  being  so  rapidly  shot  at  her — appeared 
to  Flora  the  prototype  of  her  own  struggle  to 
understand  what  reality  these  appearances 
around  her  could  possibly  shadow.  Never  before 
had  her  sense  of  standing  on  the  outside  edge  of 
life  been  so  strong.  It  seemed  as  though  there 
were  some  large,  impalpable  thing  growing  in 
the  midst  of  them,  around  the  edges  of  which 
they  were  tiptoeing,  daringly,  fearfully,  each 
61 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

one  for  himself.  But  though  it  loomed  so  large 
that  she  felt  herself  in  the  very  shadow  of  it,  rub 
her  eyes  as  she  would,  she  couldn't  see  it. 

Often  enough  in  the  crowds  she  moved  among 
she  had  felt  herself  lonely  and  not  wondered  at 
it.  But  now  and  here,  sitting  among  her  close, 
intimate  circle,  her  friends  and  her  lover,  it 
seemed  like  a  horrible  obsession — yet  it  was  true. 
As  clear  as  if  it  had  been  shown  her  in  a  revela 
tion  she  saw  herself  absolutely  alone. 


Ill 

ENCOUNTERS  ON  PARADE 

FLORA,  before  the  mirror,  gaily  stab 
bing  in  her  long  hat-pins,  confessed  to 
herself  that  last  night  had  been  queer, 
as  queer  as  queer  could  be;  but  this  morning, 
luckily,  was  real  again.    Her  fancy  last  night 
had — yes,   she  was   afraid  it  really   had — run 
away  with  her.    And  she  turned  and  held  the 
hand-mirror  high,  to  be  sure  of  the  line  of  her 
tilted  hat,  gave  a  touch  to  the  turn  of  her  wide, 
close  belt,  a  flirt  to  the  frills  of  her  bodice. 

The  wind  was  lightly  ruffling  and  puffing  out 
the  muslin  curtains  of  the  windows,  and  from 
the  garden  below  came  the  long,  silvery  clash  of 
eucalyptus  leaves.  She  leaned  on  the  high  win 
dow-ledge  to  look  downward  over  red  roofs,  over 
terraced  green,  over  steep  streets  running  ab- 
63 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

ruptly  to  the  broken  blue  of  the  bay.  She  tried  to 
fancy  how  Kerr  would  look  in  this  morning  sun. 
He  seemed  to  belong  only  beneath  the  high  arti 
ficial  lights,  in  the  thicker  atmosphere  of  even 
ing.  Would  he  return  again,  with  renewed  po 
tency,  with  the  same  singular,  almost  sinister 
charm,  as  a  wizard  who  works  his  will  only  by 
moonlight?  When  she  should  see  him  again, 
what,  she  wondered,  would  be  his  extraordinary 
mood?  On  what  new  breathless  flights  might  he 
not  take  her — or  would  he  see  her  at  all?  It  was 
too  fantastic.  The  sunlight  thinned  him  to  an 
impalpable  ghost. 

It  was  Clara,  standing  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  who  belonged  to  the  morning,  so  brisk, 
so  fresh,  so  practical  she  appeared.  She  held  a 
book  in  her  hand.  The  door,  open  for  her  imme 
diate  departure,  showed,  beyond  the  descent  of 
marble  steps,  the  landau  glistening  black  against 
white  pavements.  It  was  unusual  for  this  formal 
vehicle  to  put  in  an  appearance  so  early. 

"I  am  going  to  drive  over  to  the  Purdies'," 
Clara  explained.   "I  have  an  errand  there." 
64 


ENCOUNTERS     ON     PARADE 

Flora  smiled  at  the  thought  of  how  many  per 
sons  would  be  having  errands  to  the  Purdies' 
now.  It  was  refreshing  to  catch  Clara  in  this 
weakness.  She  felt  a  throb  of  it  herself  when  she 
recalled  the  breathless  moment  at  the  supper 
table  last  evening.  "Oh,  that  will  be  a  heavenly 
drive,"  she  said.  "Please  ask  me  to  go  with  you. 
My  errand  can  wait." 

"Why,  certainly.  I  should  like  to  have  you," 
said  Clara.  But  if  she  had  returned  a  flat  "no," 
Flora  would  not  have  had  a  dryer  sense  of  un 
welcome.  Still,  she  had  gone  too  far  to  retreat. 
After  all,  this  was  only  Clara's  manner,  and  her 
buoyant  interest  in  the  expedition  was  stronger 
than  her  diffidence. 

Mischievous  reflections  of  the  doctrine  the 
Englishman  had  startled  her  with  the  night  be 
fore  flickered  in  her  mind,  as  they  drove  from  the 
door.  Was  this  part  of  "the  big  red  game," 
not  being  accommodating,  nor  so  very  polite? 
The  streets  were  still  wet  with  early  fog,  and, 
turning  in  at  the  Presidio  gate,  the  cypresses 
dripped  dankly  on  their  heads,  and  hung  out 
65 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

cobwebs  pearled  with  dew.  She  was  sure,  even 
under  their  dripping,  that  the  "damnable  dust" 
was  alive. 

Down  the  broad  slopes  that  were  swept  by  the 
drive  all  was  green  to  the  water's  edge.  The 
long  line  of  barracks,  the  officers'  quarters,  the 
great  parade-ground,  set  in  the  flat  land  be 
tween  hills  and  bay,  looked  like  a  child's  toy, 
pretty  and  little.  They  heard  the  note  of  a 
bugle,  thin  and  silver  clear,  and  they  could  see 
the  tiny  figures  mustering ;  but  in  her  preoccu 
pation  it  did  not  occur  to  Flora  that  they  were 
arriving  just  in  time  for  parade.  But  when  the 
carriage  had  crossed  the  viaduct,  and  swung 
them  past  the  acacias,  and  around  the  last  white 
curve  into  the  white  dust  of  the  parade-ground, 
Clara  turned,  as  if  with  a  fresh  idea. 

"Wouldn't  you  like  to  stop  and  watch  it?" 
"Why,  yes,"  Flora  assented.  The  brilliance 
of  light  and  color,  the  precision  of  movement, 
the  sound  of  the  brasses  under  the  open  sky 
were  an  intermezzo  in  harmony  with  her  spirited 
mood. 

66 


ENCOUNTERS     ON     PARADE 

The  carriage  stopped  under  the  scanty 
shadow  of  trees  that  bordered  the  walk  to  the 
officers'  quarters.  Clara,  book  in  hand,  alertly 
rose. 

"I'll  just  run  up  to  the  Purdies'  and  leave 
this,"  she  said. 

"Then  she  really  did  want  to  be  rid  of  me," 
Flora  mused,  as  she  watched  the  brisk  back  mov 
ing  away ;  "and  how  beautifully  she  has  done  it !" 
Her  eyes  followed  Clara's  little  figure  retreating 
up  the  neat  and  narrow  board  walk,  to  where  it 
disappeared  in  overarching  depths  of  eucalyptus 
trees.  Further  on,  beyond  the  trees,  two  figures, 
smaller  than  Clara's  in  their  greater  distance, 
were  coming  down.  Flora  almost  grinned  as  she 
recognized  the  large  linen  umbrella  that  Mrs. 
Purdie  invariably  carried  when  abroad  in  the 
reservation,  and  presently  the  trim  and  bound 
ing  figure  of  Mrs.  Purdie  herself,  under  it.  The 
Purdies  were  coming  down  to  parade — at  least 
Mrs.  Purdie  was.  But  the  tall  figure  beside  her 
— that  was  not  the  major.  She  took  up  her 
lorgnon.  It  was — no  it  could  not  be — yet  surely 
67 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

it  was  Harry!  Lazy  Harry,  up  and  out,  and 
squiring  Mrs.  Purdie  to  the  review  at  half-past 
ten  in  the  morning!  "Are  we  all  mad?"  Flora 
thought. 

The  three  little  figures,  the  one  going  up,  the 
two  coming  down,  touched  opposite  fringes  of 
the  grove — disappeared  within  it.  On  which  side 
would  they  come  out  together?  Flora  wondered. 
They  emerged  on  her  side  with  Harry  a  little 
in  advance.  He  came  swingingly  down  the  walk, 
straight  toward  her,  and  across  the  road  to  the 
carriage,  his  hat  lifted,  his  hand  out. 

"Well,  Flora,"  he  said,  "this  is  luck!" 

"What  in  the  world  has  got  you  out  so  early  ?" 
she  rallied  him. 

"Came  out  to  see  Purdie  on  business,  and  here 
you  are  all  ready  to  drive  me  back." 

"That's  your  reward." 

He  brushed  his  handkerchief  over  his  damp 
forehead.  "Well,  there's  one  coming  to  me,  for 
I  haven't  found  Purdie." 

Her  eyes  were  dancing  with  mischief.  "Harry, 
68 


ENCOUNTERS     ON     PARADE 

I  believe  you're  out  here  about  the  Crew  Idol, 
too !" 

He  shook  his  head  at  her,  smiling.  "I  wouldn't 
talk  too  much  about  that,  Flora.  It  flicks  poor 
Purdie  on  the  raw  every  time  that — "  His  sen 
tence  trailed  off  into  something  else,  for  Mrs. 
Purdie  and  Clara  had  come  up. 

The  book  had  changed  hands,  together,  evi 
dently,  with  several  explanations,  and  Mrs.  Pur 
die,  with  her  foot  on  the  carriage  step,  was  ready 
to  make  one  of  these  over  again. 

"The  major'll  be  so  sorry.  He's  gone  in  town. 
It's  so  unusual  for  him  to  get  off  at  this  hour, 
but  he  said  he  had  to  catch  a  man.  As  Mrs.  Brit- 
ton  and  I  were  saying,  he's  likely  to  be  very 
busy  until  this  dreadful  affair  is  straightened 
out.  If  you  can  only  wait  a  little  longer,  Mr. 
Cressy,"  she  went  on,  "I  am  expecting  him  every 
moment." 

"Oh,  it's  of  no  importance,"  said  Harry,  but 
he  looked  at  his  watch  with  a  fold  between  his 
brows,  and  then  at  the  car  that  was  coming  in. 
69 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

"Well,  at  least,  you'll  have  time  to  see  the 
parade,"  said  Mrs.  Purdie.  "I  always  think  it's 
a  pretty  sight,  though  most  of  the  women  get 
tired  of  it." 

Clara's  face  showed  that  she  belonged  to  the 
latter  class ;  but  Flora,  too  keenly  attuned  to 
sounds  and  sights  not  to  be  swayed  by  outward 
circumstances,  was  content  for  the  time  to  watch, 
in  the  cloud  of  dust,  the  wheeling  platoons  and 
rhythmic  columns. 

Yet  through  all — even  when  she  was  not  look 
ing  at  him — she  was  aware  of  Harry's  restless 
ness,  of  his  impatience ;  and  as  the  last  company 
swung  barrackward,  and  the  cloud  began  to  set 
tle  over  the  empty  field,  he  snapped  his  watch- 
case  smartly,  and  remarked,  "Still  no  major." 

"Why,  there  he  is  now!"  Mrs.  Purdie 
screamed,  pointing  across  the  parade-ground. 

Flora  looked.  Half-way  down  on  the  adjoin 
ing  side  of  the  parallelogram,  back  toward  her, 
the  redoubtable  Kerr  was  standing.  She  recog 
nized  him  on  the  instant,  as  if  he  were  the  most 
familiar  figure  in  her  life.  Yet  she  was  more 
70 


ENCOUNTERS     ON     PARADE 

surprised  to  see  him  here  than  she  had  been  to 
see  Harry.  She  felt  inclined  to  rub  her  eyes. 
It  took  a  moment  for  her  to  realize  that  his  com 
panion  was  indeed  Major  Purdie. 

The  major  had  recognized  his  wife's  signaling 
umbrella.  Now  he  turned  toward  it,  but  Kerr, 
with  a  quick  motion  of  hand  toward  hat,  turned 
in  the  opposite  direction.  In  her  mind  Flora  was 
with  the  major  who  ran  after  him.  The  two  men 
stood  for  a  little,  expostulating.  Then  both 
walked  toward  the  landau  and  the  linen  um 
brella. 

The  carriage  group  waited,  watching  with 
flagging  conversation,  which  finally  fell  into  si 
lence.  But  the  two  approaching  strolled  easily 
and  talked.  Even  in  cold  daylight  Kerr  still 
gave  Flora  the  impression  that  the  open  was  not 
big  enough  to  hold  him,  but  she  saw  a  difference 
in  his  mood,  a  graver  eye,  a  colder  mouth,  and 
when  he  finally  greeted  them,  a  manner  that 
was  brusk.  It  showed  uncivil  beside  the  major's 
urbanity. 

The  major  was  glad,  very  glad,  to  see  them 
71 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

all.  He  was  evidently  also  a  little  flurried. 
He  seemed  to  know  that  they  had  all  met  Kerr 
before.  Had  it  been  at  the  moment  of  his  at 
tempted  departure  that  Kerr  had  told  him, 
Flora  wondered?  And  had  he  given  them  as  his 
excuse  for  going  away?  It  hurt  her;  though 
why  should  she  be  hurt  because  a  stranger  had 
not  wanted  to  cross  the  parade-ground  to 
shake  hands  with  her?  He  was  less  interested 
in  her  than  he  was  in  Harry,  at  whom  he  had 
looked  keenly. 

But  Harry's  nervousness  had  left  him,  now 
that  Purdie  was  within  his  reach.  He  returned 
the  glance  indifferently.  He  stood  close  to  the 
major — his  hand  on  his  shoulder.  The  major, 
with  his  bland  blue  eyes  twinkling  from  Clara 
to  Flora,  seemed  the  only  man  ready  to  devote 
himself  to  the  service  of  the  ladies. 

"And  what's  the  news  .from  the  front?"  said 
Clara  gaily.  Kerr  gave  her  a  rapid  glance; 
but  the  major  blinked  as  if  the  allusion  had  got 
by  him. 

"I  mean  the  mystery — the  Chatworth  ring," 
72 


ENCOUNTERS     ON     PARADE 

she  explained.  However  lightly  and  sweetly 
Clara  said  it,  it  was  a  little  brazen  to  fling  such 
a  question  at  poor  Purdie,  whose  responsibility 
the  ring  had  been. 

He  received  it  amicably  enough,  but  conclu 
sively.  "No  news  whatever,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Britton." 

She  smiled.  "We're  all  rather  interested  in 
the  mystery.  Flora  has  made  a  dozen  romances 
about  it." 

"Oh,  yes,  yes,"  said  the  major  indulgently. 
"It  will  do  for  young  ladies  to  make  romances 
about.  It'll  be  a  two  days'  wonder,  and  then 
you'll  suddenly  find  out  it's  something  very  tame 
indeed." 

"Why,  have  they  fixed  the  suspicion?"  said 
Clara. 

There  was  a  restless  movement  from  Kerr. 

"No,  no,  nothing  of  that  sort,"  said  the  ma 
jor  quickly. 

Harry  passed  his  hand  through  his  arm. 
"May  I  see  you  for  five  minutes,  Major?" 

The  excellent  major  looked  harassed. 
73 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

"Suppose  we  all  step  up  to  the  house,"  he 
suggested.  "Why,  you're  not  going,  man?"  he 
objected,  for  Kerr  had  fallen  back  a  step,  and, 
with  lifted  hat  and  balanced  cane,  was  signaling 
his  farewells. 

"Do  let  us  go  up  to  the  house,"  said  Clara. 
"And  Mrs.  Purdie,  won't  you  drive  up  with 
me?  Flora  wants  to  walk." 

Flora  stood  up.  She  had  a  confused  impres 
sion  that  she  had  expressed  no  such  desire,  and 
that  there  was  room  for  three  in  the  landau; 
but  the  mental  shove  that  Clara  had  adminis 
tered  gave  her  an  impetus  that  carried  her  out 
of  the  carriage  before  she  realized  what  she 
was  about.  Some  one  had  offered  a  hand  to 
help  her,  and  when  she  was  on  the  ground  she 
saw  it  was  Kerr,  who  had  come  back  and  was 
standing  beside  her.  He  was  smiling  quiz 
zically. 

"I  feel  rather  like  walking,  myself,"  he  said. 
"Do  you  want  a  companion?" 

She  turned  to  him  with  gratitude.  "I  should 
be  glad  of  one,"  she  said  quickly.  She  was 
74 


touched.     She  had  not  thought  he  could  be  so 
gentle. 

Harry  was  already  moving  off  up  the  board 
walk  with  the  major.  The  carriage  was  turn 
ing.  Kerr  looked  at  the  backs  of  the  two 
women  being  driven  away,  and  then  at  Flora. 
"Very  good,"  he  said,  raising  her  parasol ;  "you 
are  the  deposed  heir,  and  I  am  your  faithful 
servant." 

"But  indeed  I  do  want  to  walk,"  she  pro 
tested,  a  little  shy  at  the  way  he  read  her  case. 

"But  you  didn't  think  of  it  until  she  gave 
you  the  suggestion,  eh?"  he  quizzed. 

"She  probably  had  something  to  say  to  Mrs. 
Purdie  that—" 

"My  dear  child,"  he  caught  her  up  earnestly, 
"don't  think  I'm  criticizing  your  friend's  mo 
tive.  I  am  only  saying  I  saw  something  done 
that  was  not  pretty,  though  really,  if  you  will 
forgive  me — it  was  very  funny." 

Flora  smiled  ruefully.     "It  must  have  been 
— absurd.     I  am  afraid  I  often  am.     But  what 
else  could  I  have  done?" 
75 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

He  seemed  to  ponder  a  moment.  "I  fancy 
you  couldn't  have  done  anything  different. 
That's  why  I  came  back  for  you,"  he  volun 
teered  gaily. 

The  casual  words  seemed  in  her  ears  fraught 
with  deeper  meaning.  Her  cheeks  were  hot 
behind  her  thin  veil.  They  were  strolling  slow 
ly  up  the  board  walk,  and  for  a  moment  she 
could  not  look  at  him.  She  could  only  listen  to 
the  flutter  of  the  fringes  of  the  parasol  carried 
above  her  head.  She  felt  herself  small  and 
stupid.  She  could  not  understand  what  he 
could  see  in  her  to  come  back  to.  Then  she 
gave  a  side  glance  at  him.  She  saw  an  un 
smiling  profile.  The  lines  in  his  face  were  in 
deed  extraordinary,  but  none  was  hard.  She 
liked  that  wonderful  mobility  that  had  survived 
the  batterings  of  experience. 

As  if  he  were  conscious  of  her  eyes,  he  looked 
down  and  smiled ;  but  vaguely.  He  did  not  speak  ; 
and  she  was  aware  that  it  was  at  her  appearance 
he  had  smiled,  as  if  that  only  reached  him 
through  his  preoccupation  and  pleased  him. 
76 


ENCOUNTERS     ON     PARADE 

And  since  he  seemed  content  with  this  vague 
looking,  she  was  content  to  move  beside  him 
silent,  a  mere  image  of  youth  and — since  he 
liked  it — of  prettiness,  with  a  fleeting  color  and 
a  gust  of  little  curls  blowing  out  under  a  flutter 
ing  veil. 

But  what  was  he  thinking  about  so  seriously 
between  those  smiling  glances?  Not  her  prob 
lem,  she  was  sure. 

Yet  he  had  stayed  for  her  when  he  had  not 
meant  to  stay.  He  had  been  anxious  to  get  away 
since  he  had  first  sighted  them.  Surely  he 
must  like  her  more  than  he  disliked  some  other 
member  of  her  party.  Or  had  he  simply  reached 
forth  out  of  his  kindness  to  rescue  her,  as  he 
might  have  rescued  a  blind  kitten  that  he  pitied  ? 
"No,"  he  had  said,  "you  could  not  have  done 
anything  different." 

They  had  almost  reached  the  major's  gate, 
and  it  was  now  or  never  to  find  out  what  he 
thought  of  her.  She  looked  up  at  him  syddenly, 
with  inquiring  eyes. 

"Do  you  think  I  am  weak?"  she  demanded. 
77 


The  lines  of  his  face  broke  up  into  laughter. 
"No,"  he  said,  "I  think  you  are  misplaced." 

She  knitted  her  brows  in  perplexity,  but  his 
hand  was  on  the  white  picket  gate,  and  she  had 
to  walk  through  it  ahead  of  him  as  he  set  it  open 
for  her. 

Of  their  party  only  the  two  women  were  in 
sight  waiting  on  the  diminutive  veranda.  Clara 
had  a  mild  domestic  appearance,  rocking  there 
behind  the  potted  geraniums.  All  the  windows 
were  open  into  the  little  shell  of  a  house.  Trunks 
still  stood  in  the  hall,  though  the  Purdies 
had  been  quartered  at  the  Presidio  for  nine 
months.  From  the  rear  of  the  house  came  the 
sound  of  bowl  and  chopper,  where  the  Chinese 
cook  was  preparing  luncheon,  and  the  major's 
man  appeared,  walking  around  the  garden  to 
the  veranda,  with  a  cluster  of  mint  juleps  on  a 
copper  tray. 

In   this    easy   atmosphere,   how   was   it   that 

the  thread  of  restraint  ran  so  sharply  defined? 

Clara  and  Mrs.  Purdie  were  matching  crewels ; 

and,  sitting  on  the  top   step  Flora  instructed 

78 


ENCOUNTERS     ON     PARADE 

Kerr  as  to  the  composition  of  the  tropical 
glacier  they  were  drinking.  Ten  girls  had  prob 
ably  so  instructed  him  before,  but  it  would  do 
to  fill  up  the  gap.  It  was  so,  Flora  thought, 
they  were  all  feeling.  Even  the  carriage,  driv 
ing  slowly  round  and  round  the  rectangle  of 
officers'  row,  added  its  note  of  restlessness. 

Like  a  stone  plumped  into  a  pool  the  major 
and  Harry  reentered  this  stagnation.  They 
were  brisk  and  buoyant.  Harry,  especially,  had 
the  air  of  a  man  who  sees  stimulating  business 
before  him.  Immediately  all  talked  at  once. 

"Now  that  we've  got  you  here,  you  must  all 
stay  to  luncheon,"  Mrs.  Purdie  determined. 

It  looked  as  if  they  were  about  to  accept  her 
invitation  unanimously,  but  Harry  demurred. 
He  had  to  be  at  Montgomery  Street  and  Jackson 
by  one  o'clock.  "I  hoped,"  he  added,  glancing  at 
Flora,  "that  some  one  was  to  drive  me — part  of 
the  way,  at  least." 

Flora,   with  an  unruly   sense  of  disappoint 
ment,  yet  opened  her  lips  for  the  courteous  an 
swer.    But  Clara  was  quicker.    She  rose. 
79 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I'll  drive  you  back  with 
pleasure." 

Harry's  glimmer  of  annoyance  was  comic. 

"I  have  to  be  at  the  house  for  luncheon," 
Clara  explained  to  her  hostess  as  she  buttoned 
her  glove,  "but  there  is  no  reason  why  Flora 
shouldn't  stay." 

"Oh,  I  should  love  to,"  Flora  murmured,  not 
knowing  whether  she  was  more  embarrassed  or 
pleased  at  this  high-handed  dispensation  which 
placed  her  where  she  wanted  to  be. 

But  the  way  Clara  had  leaped  at  her  oppor 
tunity  !  Flora  looked  curiously  at  Harry. 

He  seemed  uneasy  at  being  pounced  upon, 
but  that  might  be  merely  because  he  was  balked 
of  a  tete-a-tete  with  herself.  For  while  Clara 
went  on  to  the  gate  with  their  hostess  he  lin 
gered  a  moment  with  Flora. 

"May  I  see  you  to-night?" 

"All  you  have  to  do  is  to  come." 

She  gave  him  an  oblique,  upward  glance,  and 
had  a  pleasant  sense  of  power  in  seeing  his  face 
relax  and  smile.  She  had  a  dance  for  that  even- 
80 


ENCOUNTERS     ON     PARADE 

ing;  but  she  thrust  it  aside  without  regret.  For 
suppose  Harry  should  have  something  to  tell 
her  about  the  Chatworth  ring?  She  wondered 
if  Clara  would  get  it  out  of  him  first  on  the 
way  home. 

The  four  left  on  the  veranda  watched  the 
two  driving  away  with  a  s.udden  clearing  of  the 
social  atmosphere.  In  vain  Flora  told  herself 
it  was  only  the  relief  she  always  felt  in  getting 
free  of  Clara.  For  in  the  return  of  the  major's 
elderly  blandishments,  in  Kerr's  kindlier  mood,  as 
well  as  in  her  own  lightened  spirits,  she  had  the 
proofs  that,  with  them  all,  some  tension  had  re 
laxed.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  those  two,  depart 
ing,  were  bearing  away  between  them  the  very 
mystery  of  the  Crew  Idol. 


81 


IV 

FLOWERS  BY  THE  WAY 

FLORA  liked  this  funny  little  dining- 
room  with  walls  as  frail  as  box-boards, 
low-ceiled  and  flooded  with  sun.  It  re 
called  surroundings  she  had  known  later  than  the 
mining  camp,  but  long  before  the  great  red 
house.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  fitted  here  bet 
ter  than  the  Purdies.  She  looked  across  at  Kerr, 
sitting  opposite,  to  see  if  perhaps  he  fitted  too. 
But  he  was  foreign,  decidedly.  He  kept  about 
him  still  the  hint  of  delicate  masquerade  that  she 
had  noticed  the  night  before.  Out  of  doors, 
alone  with  her,  he  had  lost  it.  For  a  moment  he 
had  been  absolutely  off  his  guard.  And  even 
now  he  was  more  off  his  guard  than  he  had  been 
last  night.  She  was  surprised  to  see  him  so  un- 
82 


FLOWERS     BY     THE     WAY 

studied,  so  uncritical,  so  humorously  anecdotal. 
If  she  and  the  major,  between  them,  had  dragged 
him  into  this  against  his  will  he  did  not  show  it. 
She  rose  from  the  table  with  the  feeling  that  in 
an  hour  all  three  of  them  had  become  quite  old 
friends  of  his,  though  without  knowing  any 
thing  further  about  him. 

"We  must  do  this  again,"  Mrs.  Purdie  said, 
as  they  parted  from  her  in  the  garden. 

"Surely  we  will,"  Kerr  answered  her. 

But  Flora  had  the  feeling  that  they  never, 
never  would.  For  him  it  had  been  a  chance 
touching  on  a  strange  shore. 

But  at  least  they  were  going  away  together. 
They  would  walk  together  as  far  as  the  little 
car,  whose  terminal  was  the  edge  of  the  parade- 
ground.  But  just  outside  of  the  gate  he 
stopped. 

"Do  you  especially  like  board  walks?"  he 
asked. 

It  was  an  instant  before  she  took  his  meaning. 
Then  she  laughed.  "No.  I  like  green  paths." 

He  waved  with  his  cane.  "There  is  a  path 
83 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

yonder,  that  goes  over  a  bridge,  and  beyond 
that  a  hill." 

"And  at  the  top  of  that  another  car,"  Flora 
reminded  him. 

"Ah  well,"  he  said,  "there  are  flowers  on  the 
way,  at  least."  He  looked  at  her  whimsically. 
"There  are  three  purple  irises  under  the  bridge. 
I  noticed  them  as  I  came  down." 

She  was  pleased  that  he  had  noticed  that  for 
himself — pleased,  too,  that  he  had  suggested 
the  longer  way. 

The  narrow  path  that  they  had  chosen 
branched  out  upon  the  main  path,  broad  and 
yellow,  which  dipped  downward  into  the  hol 
low.  From  there  came  the  murmur  of  water. 
Green  showed  through  the  white  grass  of  last 
summer.  The  odor  of  wet  evergreens  was  pun 
gent  in  their  nostrils.  They  looked  at  the  deli 
cate  fringed  acacias,  at  the  circle  of  hills  show 
ing  above  the  low  tree-tops,  at  the  cloudless 
sky;  but  always  their  eyes  returned  to  each 
other's  faces,  as  if  they  found  these  the  pleas- 
antest  points  of  the  landscape.  Sauntering  be- 


FLOWERS     BY     THE     WAY 

tween  plantations  of  young  eucalyptus,  they 
came  to  the  arched  stone  bridge.  They  leaned 
on  the  parapet,  looking  down  at  the  marshy 
stream  beneath  and  at  the  three  irises  Kerr  had 
remarked,  knee-deep  in  swamp  ground. 

"Now  that  I  see  them  I  suppose  I  want  them," 
Flora  remarked. 

"Of  course,"  he  assented.  "Then  hold  all 
these." 

He  put  into  her  hands  the  loose  bunch  of 
syringa  and  rose  plucked  for  her  in  the  Pur- 
dies'  garden,  laid  his  hat  and  gloves  on  the  para 
pet;  then,  with  an  eye  for  the  better  bank, 
walked  to  the  end  of  the  bridge. 

She  watched  him  descending  the  steep  bank 
and  issuing'  into  the  broad  shallow  basin  of  the 
stream's  way.  The  sun  was  still  high  enough 
to  fill  the  hollows  with  warm  light  and  mellow 
the  doubles  of  trees  and  grass  in  the  stream. 
In  this  landscape  of  green  and  pale  gold  he 
looked  black  and  tall  and  angular.  The  wind 
blew  longish  locks  of  hair  across  his  forehead, 
and  she  had  a  moment's  pleased  and  timorous 
85 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

reflection  that  he  looked  like  Satan  coming  into 
the  Garden. 

He  advanced  from  tussock  to  tussock.  He 
came  to  the  brink  of  the  marsh.  The  lilies 
wavered  what  seemed  but  a  hand's-breadth 
from  him.  But  he  stooped,  he  reached —  Oh, 
could  anything  so  foolish  happen  as  that  he 
could  not  get  them!  Or,  more  foolish  still, 
plunge  in  to  the  knees !  He  straightened  from 
his  fruitless  effort,  drew  back,  but  before  she 
could  think  what  he  was  about  he  had  leaned 
forward  again,  flashed  out  his  cane,  and  with 
three  quick,  cutting  slashes  the  lilies  were  mown. 
It  was  deftly,  delicately,  astonishingly  done, 
but  it  gave  her  a  singular  shock,  as  if  she  had 
seen  a  hawk  strike  its  prey.  He  drew  them 
cleverly  toward  him  in  the  crook  of  his  cane, 
took  them  up  daintily  in  his  fingers,  and  re 
turned  to  her  across  the  shallow  valley.  She 
waited  him  with  mixed  emotions. 

"Oh,  how  could  you!"  she  murmured,  as  he 
put  them  into  her  hand. 
86 


•,w*.    * 


FLOWERS     BY     THE     WAY 

He  looked  at  her  in  amused  astonishment. 
"Why,  aren't  they  right?" 

They  were  as  clean  clipped  off  and  as  perfect 
as  if  the  daintiest  hand  had  plucked  them. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  admitted,  "they're  lovely,  but 
I  don't  like  the  way  you  got  them." 

"I  took  the  means  I  had,"  he  objected. 

"I  don't  think  I  like  it." 

His  whole  face  was  sparkling  with  interest 
and  amusement.  "Is  that  so?  Why  not?" 

"You're  too — too" — she  cast  about  for  the 
word — "too  terribly  resourceful !" 

"I  see,"  he  said.  If  she  had  feared  he  would 
laugh,  it  showed  how  little  she  had  gauged  the 
limits  of  his  laughter.  He  only  looked  at  her 
rather  more  intently  than  he  had  before. 

"But,  my  good  child,  resourcefulness  is  a 
very  natural  instinct.  I  am  afraid  you  read 
more  into  it  than  is  there.  You  wanted  the 
flowers,  I  had  a  stick,  and  in  my  youth  I  was 
taught  to  strike  clean  and  straight.  I  am 
really  a  very  simple  fellow." 
87 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

Looking  him  in  the  eyes,  which  were  of  a 
clear,  candid  gray,  she  was  ready  to  believe  it. 
It  seemed  as  if  he  had  let  her  look  for  a  mo 
ment  through  his  manner,  his  ironies,  his  armor 
of  indifference,  to  the  frank  foundations  of  his 
nature. 

"But,  you  see,  the  trouble  is  you  don't  in  the 
least  look  it,"  she  argued. 

"So  you  think  because  I  have  a  long  face  and 
wild  hair  that  I  am  a  sinister  person?  My 
dear  Miss  Gilsey,  the  most  desperate  character 
I  ever  knew  was  five  feet  high  and  wore  mutton- 
chop  whiskers.  It  is  an  uncertain  business 
judging  men  by  their  appearance." 

She  could  not  help  smiling.  "But  most  peo 
ple  do." 

"I  don't  class  you  with  most  people." 

She  gave  him  a  quick  look.  "You  did  the 
first  night." 

"Possibly — but  less  and  less  ever  since.  You 
have  me  now  in  the  state  of  mind  where  I  don't 
know  what  you'll  be  at  next." 

This  was  fortunate,  she  thought,  since  she 
88 


FLOWERS     BY     THE     WAY 

had  not  the  least  idea  herself,  beyond  a  teasing 
desire  to  find  out  more  about  him.  He  had 
shown  her  many  fleeting  phases  which,  put  to 
gether,  seemed  contradictory.  She  could  not 
connect  this  man,  so  mild  and  amusing,  strolling 
beside  her,  with  the  alert,  whetted,  combative 
person  of  the  night  before,  or  even  with  the 
aloof  and  reticent  figure  on  the  parade-ground. 
His  very  attitude  toward  herself  had  changed 
from  the  amused  scrutiny  of  the  first  night  into 
something  more  indulgent,  more  sympathetic. 
There  was  only  one  attitude  on  his  part  that 
had  remained  the  same — one  attitude  toward  one 
person — and  her  mind  hovered  over  this.  On 
each  occasion  it  had  stirred  her  curiosity  and, 
though  she  had  not  admitted  it,  made  her  un 
easy.  Why  not  probe  him  on  the  subject,  now 
that  she  had  him  completely  to  herself?  But  as 
soon  as  silence  fell  between  them  she  saw  that 
wave  of  preoccupation  which  had  submerged 
him  during  their  walk  from  the  "parade-ground 
to  the  Purdies'  rising  over  him  again  and  float 
ing  him  away  from  her.  He  no  longer  even 
89 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

looked  at  her.  His  eyes  were  on  the  ground, 
and  it  was  not  until  they  had  crossed  the  open 
expanse  of  the  shallow  valley  and  were  climb 
ing  toward  the  avenue  of  cypress  that  she  found 
courage  to  put  her  question. 

"Have  you  and  Mr.  Cressy  met  before?" 

He  raised  his  head  with  a  jerk  and  looked  at 
her  a  moment  in  astonishment. 

"Do  you  mind  if  I  answer  your  question 
American  fashion  by  asking  another?"  he  said 
presently.  "What  put  it  into  your  head  that 
we  may  have  met  before?" 

"The  way  you  looked  at  each  other  at  the 
club,  and  again  this  morning." 

Kerr  shook  his  head.  "You  are  an  observant 
young  person !  The  fact  is,  I've  never  met  him 
— of  that  I'm  certain,  but  I  believe  I've  seen 
him  before,  and  for  the  life  of  me,  I  can't  think 
where.  At  the  moment  you  spoke  I  was  trying 
to  remember." 

"Was  it  in  this  country?"  Flora  prompted, 
hopeful  of  fishing  something  definite  out  of  this 
vagueness. 

90 


FLOWERS     BY     THE     WAY 

"No,  it  was  years  ago.  It  must  have  been 
in  England."  He  looked  at  her  inquiringly, 
as  if  he  expected  her  to  help  him. 

"Oh,  Harry's  been  in  England,"  she  said 
quickly;  and  then,  with  a  flashing  thought, 
came  to  her  the  one  scene  Harry  had  mentioned 
in  his  English  experience.  Was  it  at  a  ball? 
The  question  came  to  her  lips,  but  she  checked 
it  there.  She  remembered  how  Harry  had 
stopped  her  the  night  before  with  a  nod,  with 
a  look,  from  mentioning  that  very  thing.  Still 
she  hesitated — for  the  temptation  was  strong. 
But  no ;  it  was  only  loyal  to  Harry  to  speak  to 
him  first. 

"So  you're  not  going  to  tell  me?"  Kerr  re 
marked,  and  she  came  back  to  a  sudden  con 
sciousness  of  how  her  face  must  have  reflected 
her  thought. 

"No — not  this  time!"  she  said,  smiling, 
though  somewhat  flushed. 

He  knitted  his  brows  at  her.  They  had  reached 
the  arched  gate,  and  the  car  that  would  carry  her 
home  was  approaching. 
91 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

"Ah,  then,  I  am  afraid  it  will  be  never,"  he 
said. 

Was  it  possible  this  was  their  last  meeting? 
Did  he  mean  he  was  going  away?  The  ques 
tions  formed  in  her  mind,  but  there  was  no  time 
for  words.  He  had  stopped  the  car  with  a  flick 
of  his  agile  cane,  and  handed  her  in  as  if  he 
had  handed  her  into  a  carriage ;  and  not  a  word 
as  to  whether  they  would  see  each  other  again, 
though  she  hoped  and  hesitated  to  the  last  mo 
ment. 

Her  hand  was  in  his  for  the  fraction  of  a 
minute.  Then  the  car  was  widening  the  dis 
tance  between  them,  and  she  was  no  longer  look 
ing  into  his  face,  which  had  seemed  at  their  last 
moment  both  merry  and  wistful,  but  back  at  his 
diminishing  figure,  showing  black  against  the 
pale  Presidio  hills. 


V 

ON    GUARD 

HE  had  so  disturbed  her,  his  presence 
had  so  obliterated  other  presences  and 
annihilated  time,  that  it  took  an  en 
counter  with  Clara  to  remind  her  of  her  arrange 
ment  for  the  evening.  The  dance  ?  No,  she  had 
given  that  up.  She  had  promised  Harry  to  be  at 
home.  Clara  wanted  to  know  rather  austerely 
what  she  intended  to  do  about  the  dinner.  This 
was  dreadful!  Flora  had  forgotten  it  com 
pletely.  Nothing  to  be  done  but  go,  and  leave  a 
message  for  Harry — apology,  and  assurance 
that  she  would  be  home  early.  She  wondered  if 
she  were  losing  her  memory. 

She  appeared  to  be  changing  altogether,  for 
the  dinner — a  merry  one — bored  her.    What  she 
wanted  was  to  get  away  from  it  as  soon  as  pos- 
93 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

sible  for  that  interesting  evening.  When  she  had 
made  the  appointment  with  Harry  she  had  been 
excited  by  the  thought  that  he  might  tell  her 
whether  he  had  learned  anything  from  the  major 
that  morning  in  the  matter  of  the  ring.  But 
now  she  was  more  engrossed  with  the  idea  of  ask 
ing  about  Kerr — whether  Harry  had  really  met 
him — if  so,  where;  and,  finally,  why  did  not 
Harry  want  her  to  mention  that  Embassy  ball  ? 

Primed  with  these  questions,  she  left  imme 
diately  after  coffee,  arriving  at  her  own  red 
stone  portal  at  ten.  But  coming  in,  all  a-flut 
ter  with  the  idea  of  having  kept  him  waiting 
when  she  had  so  much  to  ask,  she  found  her 
note  as  she  had  left  it.  She  questioned  Shima. 
There  had  been  no  message  from  Mr.  Cressy. 
Her  first  annoyance  was  lost  in  wonder.  What 
could  be  the  matter?  If  this  was  neglect  on 
Harry's  part — well,  it  would  be  the  first  time. 
But  she  did  not  believe  it  was  neglect.  He  had 
been  too  eager  that  morning. 

She  went  into  the  drawing-room — a  dull-pink, 
stupendous  chamber — knelt  a  moment  before  the 
94 


ON     GUARD 

flashing  wood  fire,  then  rose,  and  crossing  to  the 
window,  looked  anxiously  out.  She  had  a  flight 
of  fancy  toward  accidents,  but  in  that  case  she 
would  certainly  have  heard.  The  French  clock 
on  the  mantel  rang  half-past  ten.  The  sound 
had  hardly  died  in  the  great  spaces  before  she 
heard  the  fine  snarl  of  the  electric  bell. 

She  restrained  an  impulse  to  dash  into  the 
hall,  and  stood  impatient  in  the  middle  of  the 
room. 

He  came  in  hastily,  his  lips  all  ready  with 
words  which  hesitated  at  sight  of  her. 

"Why,  you're  going  out!"  he  said. 

She  had  forgotten  the  cloak  that  still  hung 
from  her  shoulders. 

"No,  I've  just  come  in,  and  all  my  fine  apolo 
gies  for  being  out  are  wasted.  How  long  do 
you  think  Clara'll  let  you  stop  at  this  hour?" 

"Clara  isn't  here,"  he  said. 

"Well,  then  your  time  is  all  the  shorter."  She 
was  nettled  that  he  should  be  oblivious  of  his 
lapse.     Their  relation  had  never    been    senti 
mental,  but  he  had  always  been  punctilious. 
95 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said,  arriving  at  last  at  his 
apology.  "I  couldn't  help  being  late.  I've  had 
a  day  of  it."  He  drew  his  hands  across  his  fore 
head,  and  she  noticed  that  he  was  in  his  morn 
ing  clothes  and  looked  as  rumpled  and  flurried 
as  a  man  just  from  the  office. 

She  relented.  "Poor  dear!  You  do  look 
tired!  Don't  take  that  chair.  It's  more  Louis 
Quinze  than  comfortable.  Come  into  the  library. 
And  remember,"  she  added,  when  Shima  had  set 
the  decanter  and  glasses  beside  him,  "you  are 
to  stay  just  twenty  minutes." 

He  took  a  sip  of  his  drink  and  looked  at  her 
over  the  top  of  his  glass.  "I  may  have  to  stay 
longer  if  you  want  to  hear  about  it." 

"Oh,  Harry,  you  really  know  something?  All 
the  evening  I've  heard  nothing  but  the  wildest 
rumors.  Some  say  Major  Purdie  couldn't  speak 
because  some  one  'way  up  knows  more  than  she 
should  about  it.  And  somebody  else  said"-  it 
wasn't  the  real  ring  at  all  that  was  taken,  only 
a  paste  copy,  and  that  is  why  they're  not  doing 
more  about  getting  it  back." 
96 


ON     GUARD 

"Not  doing  more  about  getting  it  back?" 
Harry  laughed.  "Is  that  the  idea  that  gen 
erally  prevails?  Why,  Flora — "  He  stopped, 
waited  a  moment  while  she  leaned  forward  ex 
pectant.  "Flora,"  he  began  again,  "are  you 
mum  ?" 

She  nodded,  breathless. 

"Not  a  word  to  Clara?" 

"Oh,  of  course  not." 

"Well — "  He  twisted  around  in  his  chair  the 
better  to  face  her.  "To-morrow  there  will  be 
published  a  reward  of  twenty  thousand  dollars 
for  the  return  of  the  Crew  Idol,  and  no  ques 
tions  asked." 

"Oh!"  she  said.  rAnd  again,  "Oh,  is  that 
all!"  She  was  disappointed.  "I  don't  see  why 
you  and  the  major  should  have  been  so  myste 
rious  about  that." 

"You  don't,  eh?  Suppose  you  had  taken  the 
ring — wouldn't  it  make  a  difference  to  you  if 
you  knew  twenty-four  hours  ahead  that  a  re 
ward  of  twenty  thousand  dollars  would  be  pub 
lished?  Wouldn't  you  expect  every  man's  hand 
97 


THE     COAST    OF    CHANCE 

to  be  against  you  at  that  price?  If  you  had  a 
pal,  wouldn't  you  be  afraid  he'd  sell  you  up? 
Wouldn't  you  be  glad  of  twenty-four  hours' 
start  to  keep  him  from  turning  state's  evidence? 
Well — it's  just  so  that  he  shan't  have  the  start 
that  the  authorities  are  keeping  so  almighty 
dark  about  the  reward.  They  want  to  spring 
it  on  him." 

Flora  leaned  forward  with  knitted  brows. 
"Yes,  I  can  see  that,  but  still,  just  among  our 
selves,  this  morning — 

Harry  smiled.  "You've  lost  sight  of  the  fact 
that  it  is  just  among  ourselves  the  thing  has 
happened." 

"Oh,  oh !     Now  you're  ridiculous !" 

"I  might  be,  if  the  thing  had  happened  any 
where  but  in  this  town;  but  think  a  moment. 
How  much  do  we  know  of  the  people  we  meet, 
where  they  were,  and  who  they  were,  before 
they  came  here?  There's  a  case  in  point.  It 
was  not  quite  'among  ourselves'  this  morning." 

"Harry,  how  horrid  of  you !"  She  was  on 
the  point  of  declaring  that  she  knew  Kerr  very 
98 


ON     GUARD 

well  indeed;  but  she  remembered  this  might  not 
be  the  thing  to  say  to  Harry. 

"My  dear  girl,  I'm  not  saying  anything 
against  him.  I  only  remarked  that  we  did  not 
know  him." 

"Don't  you,  Harry?" 

He  gave  her  a  quick  look.  "Why,  what  put 
that  into  your  head?" 

"I — I  don't  know.  I  thought  you  looked  at 
him  very  hard  last  night  in  the  picture  gallery. 
And  afterward,  at  supper,  don't  you  remem 
ber,  you  did  not  want  me  to  mention  your  con 
nection  with  something  or  other  he  was  talking 
about?" 

"Something  or  other  he  was  talking  about?" 
Harry  inquired  with  a  frowning  smile. 

"I  think  it  was  about  that  Embassy  ball — " 

"7  didn't  want  you  to  mention  the  Embassy 
ball?"  he  repeated,  and  now  he  was  only  smil 
ing.  "My  dear  child,  surely  you  are  dream- 
ing." 

She  looked  at  him  with  the  bewildered  feel 
ing  that  he  was  flatly  contradicting  himself. 
99 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

And  yet  she  could  remember  he  had  not  shaken 
his  head  at  her.  He  had  only  nodded.  Could 
it  be  that  her  cherished  imagination  had  played 
her  a  trick  at  last?  But  the  next  moment  it 
occurred  to  her  that  somehow  she  had  been  led 
away  from  her  first  question. 

"Then  have  you  seen  him,  Harry?"  she  in 
sisted. 

"No!"  He  jerked  it  out  so  sharply  that  it 
startled  her,  but  she  stuck  to  her  subject. 

"And  you  wouldn't  have  minded  my  telling 
him  you  had  been  at  that  ball?" 

There  was  a  pause  while  Harry  looked  at 
the  fire.  Then —  "Look  here,"  he  burst  out, 
"did  he  ask  you  about  it?" 

"Oh,  no,"  she  protested.  "I  only  just  hap 
pened  to  wonder." 

He  stared  at  her  as  if  he  would  have  liked 
to  shake  her.  But  then  he  rose  from  his  frown 
ing  attitude  before  the  fire,  came  over  to  her, 
sat  on  the  arm  of  her  chair,  and,  with  the  tip 
of  one  finger  under  her  chin,  lifted  her  face ; 
but  she  did  not  lift  her  eyes.  She  heard  only 
100 


ON     GUARD 

his  voice,  very  low,  with  a  caressing  note  that 
she  hardly  knew  as  Harry's. 

"It  isn't  that  I  care  what  you  say  to  him. 
The  fact  is,  Flora,  I  suppose  I  was  a  little 
jealous,  but  I  naturally  don't  like  the  sugges 
tion  that  you  would  discuss  me  with  a  stranger." 

She  knew  herself  properly  reproved,  and  she 
reproached  herself,  not  for  what  she  had  ac 
tually  said  to  Kerr  of  Harry — that  had  been 
trivial  enough — but  for  that  wayward  impulse 
she  had  to  confide  in  this  clear-eyed,  whimsical 
stranger,  as  it  had  never  occurred  to  her  to 
confide  in  Harry. 

She  raised  her  eyes.  "Certainly  I  shall  not 
discuss  you  with  him." 

"Is  that  a  promise?" 

"Harry,  how  you  do  dislike  him !" 

"Well,  suppose  I  do?"  he  shrugged. 

"You've  used  up  twice  your  twenty  minutes," 
she  said,  "and  Clara  will  be  scandalized." 

He  stopped  the  caressing  movement  of  his 
hand  on  her  hair.  "Are  you  afraid  of  Clara?" 
he  asked. 

101 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

"Mercy,  yes!"  She  was  half  in  earnest  and 
half  laughing.  "But  then  I'm  afraid  of  every 
one." 

He  put  his  arm  affectionately  around  her. 
"But  not  of  me?" 

"Oh,"  she  told  him,  "you're  a  great  big  pur 
ring  pussy-cat,  and  I  am  your  poor  little 
mouse." 

He  thought  this  reply  immensely  witty,  and 
Flora  thought  what  a  great  boy  he  was,  after 
all. 

"Now,  really,  you  must  go  home,"  she  urged, 
trying  to  rise. 

"But  look  here,"  he  protested,  still  on  the 
arm  of  her  chair,  "there's  another  thing  I  want 
to  ask  you  about."  And  by  the  tip  of  one  finger 
he  lifted  her  left  hand  shining  with  rings.  "You 
will  have  to  have  another  one  of  these,  you 
know.  It's  been  on  my  mind  for  a  week.  Is 
there  any  sort  you  haven't  already?" 

She  held  up  her  hand  to  the  light  and  flut 
tered  its  glitter. 

"Any  one  that  you  gave  me  would  be  dif- 
102 


ON     GUARD 

ferent  from  the  others,  wouldn't  it?"  she  asked 
prettily. 

"Oh,  that's  very  nice  of  you,  Flora,  but  I 
want  to  find  you  something  new.  When  shall 
we  look  for  it?  To-morrow,  in  the  morning?" 

"Yes,  I  should  love  it,"  she  answered,  but 
with  no  particular  enthusiasm,  for  the  idea  of 
shopping  with  Harry,  and  shopping  at  Shrove's, 
did  not  present  a  wide  field  of  possibility.  "But 
I  have  a  luncheon  to-morrow,"  she  added,  "so 
we  must  make  it  as  early  as  ten." 

"Oh,  you  two!" 

At  Clara's  mildly  reproving  voice  so  close 
beside  them  both  started  like  conspirators.  They 
had  not  heard  her  come  in,  yet  there  she  was, 
just  inside  the  doorway,  still  wrapped  in  her 
cloak.  But  there  was  none  of  the  impetus  of 
arrested  motion  in  her  attitude.  She  stood  at 
repose  as  if  she  might  have  waited  not  to  in 
terrupt  them. 

"Don't  scold  Flora,"  said  Harry,  rising.  "It's 
my  fault.    She  sent  me  away  half  an  hour  ago. 
But  it  is  so  comfortable  here !" 
103 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

Flora  couldn't  tell  whether  he  was  simply 
natural,  or  whether  he  was  giving  this  domestic 
color  to  their  interview  on  purpose.  She  rather 
thought  it  was  the  latter. 

"To-morrow  at  ten,  then !"  he  said  cheerfully 
to  Flora.  The  stiff  curtains  rustled  behind  him 
and  the  two  women  were  left  together. 

"What  an  important  appointment,"  said 
Clara  lightly,  "to  bring  a  man  at  this  hour  to 
make  it." 

"Oh,  it  is,  awfully!"  Flora  answered  in  the 
same  key.  "To  choose  my  engagement  ring." 

Clara's  delicate  brows  flew  upward,  and  though 
Clara  herself  made  no  comment,  the  quick  facial 
movement  said^  "I  don't  believe  it." 


104. 


VI 

BLACK    MAGIC 

THE  memory  of  Clara's  incredulous 
glance  remained  with  her  as  something 
curious,  and  she  was  not  unprepared  to 
be  challenged  when,  the  next  morning,  she  hur 
ried  down  the  hall,  drawing  on  her  gloves. 
Clara's  door  did  open,  but  the  lady  herself, 
yawning  lightly  on  the  threshold,  had  this  time 
no  questions  for  her.  "Remember  the  luncheon," 
she  advised,  "and  by  the  way,  Ella  wants  us  to 
sit  in  their  box  to-night.  Don't  forget  to  tell 
Harry." 

Flora  threw  back  a  gay  "All  right,"  but  she 
was  in  danger  of  forgetting  even  the  object  of 
their  errand,  once  she  and  Harry  were  out  in 
the  bright  glare  of  the  street.  The  wind,  keen 
and  resinous  from  the  wet  Presidio  woods,  blew 
105 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

at  their  back  down  the  short  block  of  pave 
ment,  and  buffeted  them  broadside,  as  they 
waited  on  the  corner  for  the  slow-crawling  little 
car.  In  spite  of  the  blustering  air  Flora  in 
sisted  on  the  side  seat  of  the  "dummy,"  and, 
catching  her  hat  with  one  hand,  pressing  down 
her  fluttering  skirts  with  the  other,  she  laughed, 
now  sidelong  at  Harry,  now  out  at  the  dancing 
face  of  the  bay. 

Each  succeeding  cross-street  gave  up  a  flash 
of  blue  water.  The  short  blocks  slid  by,  first 
stone  fronts  and  fresh  lawns,  stucco  and  tiles; 
then  here  and  there  corner  lots,  the  great  gray, 
towered,  wooden  mansions  the  stock-brokers  of 
the  "seventies"  built,  and  below  them,  like  a 
contingent  of  shabby-genteel  relations,  the  nar 
row  gray  wooden  faces  of  what  was  "smart"  in 
the  "sixties".  It  was  a  continuous  progress  back 
ward  toward  the  old,  the  original  town.  There 
was  no  stately  nucleus.  This  town  was  a  suc 
cession  of  widening  ripples  of  progress,  each 
newer,  more  polished  than  the  last,  but  not  dif 
ferent  in  quality  from  the  old  center  that  still 
106 


BLACK     MAGIC 

teemed — a  region  of  frail  wooden  rookeries  full 
of  foreign  contending  interests,  haunted  with 
the  adventures  of  its  feverish  past.  It  had 
built  itself  on  the  hopes  of  a  moment,  and  what 
spread  from  it  still  was  the  spell  of  the  new, 
the  changing,  and  the  reckless.  It  drew  still 
from  the  ends  of  the  earth.  The  broad  road  in 
over  the  mountains,  the  broad  road  out  over  the 
ocean  made  it  where  it  stood,  touching  all  trades, 
a  road-house  of  the  world. 

Some  dim  perception  of  this  touched  Flora 
as  the  houses,  gliding  past,  grew  older,  grayer, 
with  steeper  gardens,  narrower  streets,  here 
and  there  even  trees,  lone,  sentinel,  at  the 
edge  of  cobbled  gutters.  From  the  crest  of 
the  last  hill  they  had  looked  a  mile  down  the 
long  gray  throat  of  the  street  to  where  the  ferry 
building  lay  stretched  out  with  its  one  tall  tower 
pricked  up  among  the  masts  of  shipping.  Half 
way  between  their  momentary  perch  and  the 
ferry  slips  the  street  suddenly  thickened,  dark 
ened,  swarmed,  flying  a  yellow  pennon  high 
above  blackened  roofs.  And  now^  as  they  slip- 
107 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

ped  down  the  long  decline  into  the  foreign  quar 
ter  the  pungent  oriental  breath  of  Chinatown 
was  blown  up  to  them.  She  breathed  it  in  read 
ily.  It  was  pleasant  because  it  was  strange,  out 
landish,  suggesting  a  wide  web  of  life  beyond 
her  own  knowledge.  She  wondered  what  Harry 
was  thinking  of  it,  as  he  sat  with  his  passive 
profile  turned  from  her  to  the  heathen  street 
ahead.  She  guessed,  by  the  curl  of  his  nostril, 
that  it  was  only  present  to  him  as  an  unpleasant 
odor  to  be  got  through  as  quickly  as  possible; 
but  she  was  wrong.  He  had  another  thought. 
This  time,  oddly  enough,  a  thought  for  her. 

He  gave  it  to  her  presently,  abrupt,  matter- 
of-fact,  material.  "That  Chinese  goldsmith 
down  there  has  good  stuff  now  and  then.  How'd 
you  like  to  look  in  there  before  we  go  on  to  what- 
you-call-'em's, — the  regular  place?" 

"You  mean  for  a  ring?"  She  was  doubtful 
only  of  his  being  in  earnest. 

"You  have  so  many  of  the  Shrove  kind,"  he 
explained.    "I  thought  you  might  like  it,  Flora ; 
you're  so  romantic!"  he  laughed. 
108 


BLACK     MAGIC 

"Like  it!"  she  cried,  too  touched  at  his 
thought  for  her  to  resent  the  imputation.  "I 
should  love  it !  But  I  didn't  know  they  had  such 
things." 

"Now  and  then — though  it  is  a  rare  chance." 

"But  that  will  be  just  the  fun  of  it,"  she 
hastened,  half  afraid  lest  Harry  should  change 
his  mind,  "to  see  if  we  can  possibly  find  one 
that  will  be  different  from  all  these  others." 

She  kept  this  little  feeling  of  exploration 
close  about  her,  as  they  left  the  car,  a  block 
above  the  green  trees  of  the  plaza,  and  entered 
one  of  the  narrow  streets  that  was  not  even  a 
cross-street,  but  an  alley,  running  to  a  bag's 
end,  with  balconies,  green  railings  and  narcissi 
taking  the  sun. 

A  slant-eyed  baby  in  a  mauve  blouse  stared 
after  them ;  and  a  white  face  so  poisoned  in  its 
badness  that  it  gave  Flora  a  start,  peered  at 
them  from  across  the  street.  It  made  her  shrink 
a  little  behind  Harry's  broad  shoulder  and  take 
hold  of  his  arm.  The  mere  touch  of  that  arm 
was  security.  His  big  presence,  moving  agilely 
109 


THE     COAST    OF    CHANCE 

beside  her,  seemed  to  fill  the  street  with  its 
strength,  as  if,  by  merely  flinging  out  his  arms, 
Samson-like,  he  could  burst  the  dark  walls 
asunder. 

In  the  middle  of  the  block,  sunk  a  little  back 
from  the  fronts  of  the  others,  the  goldsmith's 
shop  showed  a  single,  filmed  window;  and  the 
pale  glow  through  it  proclaimed  that  the  worker 
in  metals  preferred  another  light  to  the  sun's. 
The  threshold  was  worn  to  a  hollow  that  sur 
prised  the  foot;  and  the  interior  into  which  it 
led  them  gloomed  so  suddenly  around  them  after 
the  broad  sunlight,  that  it  was  a  moment  before 
they  made  out  the  little  man  behind  the  counter, 
sitting  hunched  up  on  a  high  stool. 

"Hullo,  Joe,"  said  Harry,  in  the  same  voice 
that  hailed  his  friends  on  the  street-corners; 
but  the  goldsmith  only  nodded  like  a  nodding 
mandarin,  as  if,  without  looking  up,  he  took 
them  in  and  sensed  their  errand.  He  wore  a 
round,  blue  Chinese  cap  drawn  over  his  crown ; 
a  pair  of  strange  goggles  like  a  mask  over  his 
eyes,  and  his  little  body  seemed  to  poise  as 
HQ 


BLACK     MAGIC 

lightly  on  his  high  stool  as  a  wisp,  as  if  there 
were  no  more  flesh  in  it  than  in  his  long,  dry 
fingers  that  so  marvelously  manipulated  the 
metal.  Save  for  that  glitter  of  gold  on  his 
glass  plate,  and  the  grin  of  a  lighted  brazier, 
all  was  dark,  discolored  and  cluttered. 

And  the  way  Harry  bloomed  upon  this  back 
ground  of  dubious  antiquity !  He  leaned  on  the 
little  counter,  which  creaked  under  his  weight, 
in  his  big,  fresh  coat,  with  his  clear,  fresh  face 
bent  above  the  shallow  tray  of  trinkets — doubt 
ful  jades,  dim-eyed  rings,  dull  clasps  and  coins 
— his  large,  fastidious  finger  poked  among.  He 
was  the  one  vital  thing  in  the  shop. 

Over  everything  else  was  spread  a  dimness  of 
age  like  dust.  It  enveloped  the  little  man  behind 
the  counter,  not  with  the  frailness  that  belongs  to 
human  age,  but  with  that  weathered,  polished 
hardness  which  time  brings  to  antiques  of  wood 
and  metal.  Indeed,  he  appeared  so  like  a  carved 
idol  in  a  curio  shop  that  Flora  was  a  little 
startled  to  find  that  he  was  looking  at  her.  China 
men  had  always  seemed  to  her  blank  automatons ; 
111 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

but  this  one  looked  keenly,  pointedly,  as. if  he 
personally  took  note.  She  told  herself  whimsi 
cally  that  perhaps  it  was  his  extraordinary 
glasses  that  gave  point  to  that  expression ;  and 
presently  when  he  took  them  off  she  was  sur 
prised  to  see  it  seemed  verily  true.  His  little 
physiognomy  had  no  more  expression  than  a 
withered  nut.  But  there  was  something  about 
it  more  disturbing  than  its  vanishing  intelli 
gence,  something  unexpected,  and  out  of  har 
mony  with  the  rest  of  him,  yet  so  illusive  that, 
flit  over  him  as  her  eye  would,  she  failed  to 
find  it. 

"Harry,"  she  murmured  to  Cressy,  who  was 
still  stirring  the  contents  of  the  box  with  a  dis 
dainful  forefinger,  "this  little  man  gives  me  the 
shivers." 

"Old  Joe?"  Harry  smiled  indulgently.  "He's 
a  queer  customer.  Been  quite  a  figurehead  in 
Chinatown  for  twenty  years.  Say,  Joe,  heap 
bad !"  and  with  the  back  of  his  hand  he  flicked 
the  tray  away  from  him. 

The  little  man  undoubled  his  knees  and  de- 


BLACK     MAGIC 

scended  the  stool.  He  stood  breast-high  behind 
the  counter.  He  dropped  a  lack-luster  eye  to 
the  box.  "Velly  nice,"  he  murmured  with  vague, 
falling  inflection. 

"Oh,  rotten!"  Harry  laughed  at  him. 

"You  no  like?" 

"No.  No  like.  You  got  something  else — some 
thing  nice?" 

"No."  It  was  like  a  door  closed  in  the  face 
of  their  hope — that  falling  inflection,  that 
blank  of  vacuity  that  settled  over  his  face,  and 
his  whole  drooping  figure.  He  seemed  to  be 
only  mutely  awaiting  their  immediate  departure 
to  climb  back  again  on  his  high  stool.  But 
Harry  still  leaned  on  the  counter  and  grinned 
ingratiatingly.  "Oh,  Joe,  you  good  flen'.  You 
got  something  pretty — maybe?" 

The  curtain  of  vacuity  parted  just  a  crack 
— let  through  a  gleam  of  intense  intelligence. 
"Maybe."  The  goldsmith  chuckled  deeply,  as 
if  Harry  had  unwittingly  perpetrated  some 
joke — some  particularly  clever  conjurer's  trick. 
He  sidled  out  behind  the  counter,  past  the  grin- 
113 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

ning  brazier,  and  shuffled  into  the  back  of  the 
shop  where  he  opened  a  door. 

Flora  had  expected  a  cupboard,  but  the  vista 
it  gave  upon  was  a  long,  black,  incredibly  nar 
row  passage,  that  stretched  away  into  gloom 
with  all  the  suggestion  of  distance  of  a  road  go 
ing  over  a  horizon.  Down  this  the  goldsmith 
went,  with  his  straw  slippers  clapping  on  his 
heels,  until  his  small  figure  merged  in  the  gloom 
and  presently  disappeared  altogether,  and  only 
the  faint  flipper-flap  of  his  slippers  came  back 
growing  more  and  more  distant  to  them,  and 
finally  dying  into  silence.  In  the  stillness  that 
followed  while  they  waited  they  could  hear  each 
other  breathe.  The  little  shop  with  the  water- 
stained  walls  and  the  ancient  odor — ancient  as 
the  empire  of  China — inclosed  them  like  a  spell 
cast  around  them  by  a  vanishing  enchanter  to 
hold  them  there  mute  until  his  returning.  They 
did  not  look  at  each  other,  but  rather  at  the 
glowing  brazier,  at  the  gold  on  the  glass  plates, 
at  the  forms  of  people  passing  in  the  street, 
moving  palely  across  the  dim  window  pane,  as 
114- 


BLACK     MAGIC 

distant  to  Flora's  eye  as  though  they  moved  in 
another  world.  Then  came  the  flipper-flap  of 
the  goldsmith's  slippers  returning.  The  sound 
snapped  their  tension,  and  Harry  laughed. 

"Lord  knows  how  far  he  went  to  get  it!" 

"Across  the  street?"  Flora  wondered. 

"Or  under  it.  And  it  won't  be  worth  two 
bits  when  it  gets  here."  He  peered  at  the  little 
man  coming  toward  them  down  the  passage, 
flapping  and  shuffling,  and  carrying,  held  before 
him  in  both  hands,  a  square,  deep  little  box. 

It  wad  a  worn,  nondescript  box  that  he  set 
down  before  them,  but  the  jealous  way  he  had 
carried  it  had  suggested  treasure,  and  Flora 
leaned  eagerly  forward  as  he  raised  the  cover, 
half  expecting  the  blaze  of  a  jewel-case.  She 
saw  at  first  only  dull  shanks  of  metal  tumbled 
one  upon  the  other.  But,  after  a  moment's  peer 
ing,  between  them  she  caught  gleams  of  veri 
table  light.  Her  fingers  went  in  to  retrieve  a 
hoop  of  heavy  silver,  in  the  midst  of  which  was 
sunk  a  flawed  topaz.  She  admired  a  moment 
the  play  of  light  over  the  imperfection. 
115 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

"But  this  isn't  Chinese,"  she  objected,  turn 
ing  her  surprise  on  Harry. 

"Lots  of  'em  aren't.  These  men  glean  every 
where.  That's  pretty."  He  held  up  a  little 
circle  of  discolored  but  lusterful  pearls — let  it 
fall  again,  since  it  was  worth  only  a  glance. 
He  leaned  on  the  counter,  indifferent  to  urge 
where  value  seemed  so  slight.  He  seemed 
amused  at  Flora's  enthusiasm  for  clouded  opals. 

"They  look  well  enough  among  this  junk," 
he  said,  "but  compare  them  with  your  own  rings 
and  you'll  see  the  difference." 

She  heard  him  dreamily.  She  was  wishing,  as 
she  turned  over  the  tumble  of  damaged  jewels, 
that  things  so  pretty  might  have  been  perfect. 
To  find  a  perfect  thing  in  this  place  would  be 
too  extraordinary  to  hope  for.  Yet,  taking  up 
the  next,  and  the  next,  she  found  herself  wish 
ing  it  might  be  this  one — this  cracked  intaglio. 
No?  Then  this  blue  one — say.  The  setting 
spoke  nothing  for  it.  It  was  a  plain,  thin, 
round  hoop  of  palpable  brass,  and  the  battered 
thing  seemed  almost  too  feeble  to  hold  the  soli- 
116 


BLACK     MAGIC 

tary  stone.  But  the  stone!  She  looked  it  full 
in  the  eye,  the  big,  blazing,  blue  eye  of  it. 
What  was  the  matter  with  this  one?  A  flaw? 
She  held  it  to  the  light. 

She  felt  Harry  move  behind  her.  She  knew 
he  couldn't  but  be  looking  at  it.  For  how,  by 
all  that  was  marvelous,  had  she  for  a  moment 
doubted  it?  Down  to  its  very  heart,  which  was 
near  to  black,  it  was  clear  fire,  and  outward 
toward  the  facets  struck  flaming  hyacinth  hues 
with  zigzag  white  cross-lights  that  dazzled  and 
mesmerized.  Just  the  look  of  it — the  marvelous 
deep  well  of  its  light — declared  its  truth. 

"Harry,"  she  breathed,  without  taking  her 
gaze  from  the  thing  in  her  hand,  "do  look  at 
this !" 

She  felt  him  lean  closer.  Then  with  an  abrupt 
"Let's  see  it,"  he  took  it  from  her — held  it  to  the 
light,  laid  it  on  his  palm,  looking  sharply  across 
the  counter  at  the  shopkeeper,  then  back  at  the 
ring  with  a  long  scrutiny.  His  face,  too,  had  a 
flush  of  excitement. 

"Is  it— good?"  Flora  faltered. 
117 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

"A  sapphire,"  he  said,  and  taking  her  third 
finger  by  the  tip,  he  slid  on  the  thin  circle  of 
metal. 

She  breathed  high,  looking  down  at  the  stone 
with  eyes  absorbed  in  the  blue  fire.  There  was 
none  of  the  cupidity  of  women  for  jewels  in 
her  look.  It  was  the  intrinsic  beauty  of  this 
drop  of  dark  liquid  light  that  had  captured  her. 
It  had  mystery,  and  her  imagination  woke  to  it 
— the  wistful  mystery  of  perfect  beauty.  And 
perfect  beauty  in  such  a  place!  It  was  too 
beautiful.  The  feeling  it  brought  her  was  too 
sharp  for  pure  pleasure.  It  was  dimly  like 
fear.  Yet  instinctively  she  shut  her  hand  about 
the  ring.  She  murmured  out  her  wonder. 

"How  in  the  world  did  such  a  thing  come 
here?" 

"Oh,  not  so  strange,"  Harry  answered.  He 
leaned  on  his  elbow  upon  the  counter,  his  head 
bent  close  to  hers  above  the  single,  glittering 
point  that  drew  the  four  eyes  to  one  focus. 
"Sailors  now  and  then  pick  up  a  thing  of  whose 
value  they  have  no  idea — get  hard  up,  and 
118 


BLACK     MAGIC 

pawn  it — still  without  any  idea.  These  chaps" 
— and  his  bold  hand  indicated  the  shopkeeper 
— "take  in  anything — that  is,  anything  worth 
their  while;  and  wait,  and  wait,  and  wait  until 
they  see  just  the  moment — and  turn  it  to  ac 
count." 

It  might  be  because  Harry's  eyes  were  so 
taken  with  the  jewel  that  his  tongue  ran  reck 
lessly.  He  had  spoken  low,  but  Flora  sent  an 
anxious  glance  to  be  sure  the  shopkeeper  hadn't 
overheard.  She  had  meant  only  to  glance,  but 
she  found  herself  staring  into  eyes  that  stared 
back  from  the  other  side  of  the  counter.  That 
wide,  unwinking  scrutiny  filled  her  whole  vis 
ion.  For  an  instant  she  saw  nothing  but  the 
dance  of  scintillant  pupils.  Then,  with  a  little 
gasp  she  clutched  at  her  companion's  arm. 

"Oh,  Harry!" 

His  glance  came  quickly  round  to  her.  "Why, 
what's  the  matter?" 

She  murmured,  "That  Chinaman  has  blue 
eyes." 

He  looked  at  her  with  good-natured  wonder. 
119 


THE     COAST     OF    CHANCE 

"Why,  Flora,  haven't  you  blue  on  the  brain? 
I  believe  he  has,  though,"  he  added,  as  he 
peered  across  the  counter  at  the  shopkeeper, 
whose  gaze  now  fluttered  under  narrowed  lids ; 
"but  why  in  the  world  should  blue  eyes  scare 
you?"  His  look  returned  indulgently  to  Flora's 
face. 

She  could  not  explain  her  reason  of  fear  to 
him.  She  could  not  explain  it  to  herself  more 
than  that  the  eyes  had  seemed  to  know.  What? 
She  could  not  tell;  but  they  had  had  a  deadly 
intelligence.  She  only  whispered  back,  "But  he 
is  awful!" 

"Oh,  I  guess  not,"  Harry  grinned,  and 
turned  his  back  to  the  counter,  "only  part 
white.  Makes  him  a  little  sharper  at  a  bar 
gain." 

But,  in  spite  of  his  off-handedness,  Flora 
saw  he  was  alert,  touched  with  excitement. 
Once  or  twice  he  looked  from  the  shopkeeper 
to  the  sapphire. 

"Do  you  like  it,  Flora?"  he  said.  "Do  you 
120 


BLACK     MAGIC 

want  it?"  He  spoke  eagerly  against  her  re 
luctance. 

"It  is  the  most  beautiful  thing  I  ever  saw, 
but —  She  could  not  put  it  to  him  why  she 
shrank  from  it.  That  feeling  which  had 
touched  her  at  the  first  had  a  little  expanded, 
the  sense  of  the  sapphire's  sinister  charm.  She 
faltered  out  as  much  as  she  could  explain.  "It's 
too  much  for  me." 

His  shoulders  shook  with  appreciation  of  this. 
"Oh,  I  guess  not !  If  you  keep  that  up  I  shall 
be  thinking  you  mean  it  is  too  much  for  me." 

It  hadn't  been  in  the  least  what  she  meant, 
but  now  that  he  had  suggested  it  to  her — "Well, 
I  shouldn't  like  it  to  be,"  she  blushed,  but  she 
braved  him. 

The  ring  of  his  laughter  filled  the  little,  dark, 
old  shop,  and  made  the  proprietor  blink. 

"Oh,  I  guess  not,"  he  said  again,  and  with 
that  he  seemed  to  make  an  end  of  her  hesita 
tions.  There  was  not  another  objection  she 
could  bring  up.  She  let  him  draw  the  ring  off 
121 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

her  hand  with  a  mingled  feeling  of  reluctance 
and  relief.  She  saw  him  turn  briskly  to  the 
shopkeeper. 

"Now,  Joe,  how  much  you  want?"  That 
much  she  heard  as  she  turned  away  with  a  fear 
lest  it  might,  and  a  hope  that  it  would  be,  too 
much  for  him! 

She  lingered  away  to  the  door,  through 
whose  upper  glazed  half  she  saw  the  street 
swarming  and  sunny,  picked  out  with  streamers 
of  red  and  squares  of  green.  The  murmur  of 
traffic  outside  was  faint  to  her  ears.  The  mur 
mur  of  the  two  voices  talking  on  inside  the  shop 
momently  grew  fainter.  She  looked  behind  her 
and  saw  them  now  in  the  back  of  the  shop,  close 
by  the  grinning  brazier. 

The  light  of  it  showed  what  would  have  been 
otherwise  dark.  It  showed  her  Harry,  strad 
dling,  hands  in  pockets,  hat  thrust  back,  a  sil 
houette  as  hard  as  if  cast  in  cold  metal.  The 
aspect  of  him,  thus,  was  strange,  not  quite  un 
like  himself,  but  giving  her  the  feeling  that  she 


BLACK     MAGIC 

had  never  known  how  much  Harry  smoothed 
over. 

Perhaps  men  were  always  like  that  with  men. 
Still  she  looked  away  again  because  she  felt 
she  had  taken  a  liberty  in  catching  him  when 
he  was  coming  out  so  plain  and  coming  out  so 
positive  to  the  shopkeeper,  whom  he  seemed 
really  to  be  bullying.  She  felt  that,  consider 
ing  the  sapphire,  nothing  that  went  on  about 
it  could  be  too  extraordinary.  And  yet  the 
tone  their  voices  were  taking  on  made  her  nerv 
ous.  Whatever  they  were  arguing  about,  she 
found  it  hard  to  go  on  standing  thus  with 
her  back  to  it,  and  for  so  long,  while  her  ex 
pectancy  tightened,  and  her  unreasonable  idea 
that  she  did  not  want  the  ring,  more  and  more 
took  hold  of  her.  If  he  did  not  want  to  sell  it, 
why  not  let  it  go — the  beautiful  thing ! 

She  thought  she  would  call  Harry,  and  sug 
gest  it — but  no.  She  hesitated.  She  would 
give  them  a  chance  to  finish  it  themselves.  She 
would  count  ten  pigtails  past  the  window  first. 
123 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

She  watched  the  last  far  into  the  distance,  and 
still  she  was  there,  blowing  hot  and  cold.  She 
would  call  to  Harry — call  out  to  him  from 
where  she  stood,  that  she  wouldn't  have  the 
thing. 

She  turned,  and  there  they  were  yet.  They 
had  not  moved.  The  shadow  of  the  gesticulat 
ing  little  Chinaman  danced  like  a  bird  on  the 
wall,  and  before  him  Harry  glowed,  immov 
able,  but  ruddy,  as  if  the  hard  metal  whereof 
he  was  cast  was  slowly  heating  through.  The 
thought  came  to  her  then.  Harry  was  iron ! 
The  hard  shade  of  his  profile  on  the  wall,  the 
stiff  movement  of  his  lips,  the  forward  thrust 
of  his  head  on  his  shoulders  gave  her  another 
thought.  Was  Harry  also  brutal?  The  sight 
of  that  brutality  awake,  feeding,  as  it  were,  on 
the  fluttering  little  figure  before  it,  distressed 
her.  How  long  were  they  going  on  putting  an 
edge  to  their  argument?  There  was  continually 
with  her  the  fear  that  it  might  sharpen  into  a 
quarrel;  for  now  the  goldsmith  had  ceased  his 
gesticulation  and  became  suddenly  immobile,  and 


still  Harry  was  requiring  of  him  the  same  thing. 
It  was  insisted  upon,  by  all  the  lines  of  his  stiff 
braced  figure,  and  she  had  a  fluttered  expectancy 
that  if  the  little  man  didn't  do  something  quickly, 
now — now  it  would  happen. 

What  she  expected  of  Harry,  a  violent  act 
or  a  quick  relaxation  of  his  iron  mood,  she  had 
not  time  to  consider,  for  the  shopkeeper  had 
moved.  He  was  jerking  his  head,  his  thumb, 
and  finally  his  arm  in  the  direction  of  the  long, 
dim  passage — such  a  pointed  direction,  such 
a  singular  gesture,  as  to  startle  her  with  its 
incongruity.  What  had  that  to  do  with  the 
price  of  the  ring?  And  if  it  had  nothing  to 
do  with  the  price  of  the  ring,  what  had  they 
been  talking  about?  Her  small  scruple  against 
knowing  what  was  going  on  behind  her  was 
forgotten.  Indeed,  now  she  was  oblivious  of 
everything  else.  She  was  taking  it  in  with  all 
her  eyes,  when  Harry  turned  and  looked  at  her. 
And,  oddly  enough,  she  thought  he  looked  as 
if  he  wondered  how  she  came  there.  She  saw 
him  return  to  it  slowly.  Then,  in  a  flash,  he 
125 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

met  her  brilliantly.  He  came  toward  her  out 
of  the  gloom,  holding  the  ring  before  him,  as 
if  with  the  light  of  that,  and  the  flash  of  his 
smile,  he  was  anxious  immediately  to  cover  his 
deficit. 

"I  had  the  very  devil  of  a  time  getting  it," 
he  said.  "The  little  beggar  didn't  want  to  let 
me  have  it."  But  there  was  a  subsiding  ex 
citement  in  his  face,  and  a  something  in  his 
manner,  both  triumphant  and  troubled,  which 
his  explanation  did  not  reasonably  account  for. 
Had  Harry  felt  the  touch  of  the  same  strange 
influence  that  the  little  shop,  and  the  blue-eyed 
Chinaman,  and  the  sapphire,  had  wrought 
around  her?  Or  was  it  something  more  salient, 
the  same  thing  that  had  suggested  itself  to  her 
with  the  violent  gesticulation  of  the  shopkeeper 
at  the  passage — that  some  question  other  than 
the  mere  transfer  of  the  ring  had  come  up  be 
tween  them? 

"Harry" — she  hesitated — "are  you  quite 
sure  it's  all  right?" 

"All  right?"  The  sudden  edge  in  his  voice 
126 


BLACK     MAGIC 

made  her  look  at  him.  "Why,  it's  genuine,  if 
that's  what  you  mean." 

It  hadn't  been,  quite;  but  her  meaning  was 
too  vague  to  put  into  words — a  mere  sensa 
tion  of  uneasiness.  She  watched  Harry  turn 
the  ring  over,  as  if  he  were  reluctant  to  let  it 
go  out  of  his  hands.  And  then,  looking  at  her, 
she  thought  his  glance  was  a  little  uncertain. 
She  thought  he  hesitated,  and  when  he  finally 
slid  the  ring  over  her  finger,  "I  wouldn't  wear 
it  until  it  is  reset,"  he  said.  "That  setting  isn't 
gold.  It's  hardly  decent." 

"Yes,"  she  assented ; '  Clara  will  laugh  at  us." 

"She  won't  if  we  don't  show  it  to  her  until 
it's  fit  to  appear.  In  fact,  I  would  rather  you 
wouldn't.  As  it  is  now,  the  thing  doesn't  rep 
resent  my  gift  to  you." 

She  felt  this  was  Harry's  conventional  streak 
asserting  itself.  But  even  she  had  to  admit  that 
an  engagement  ring  which  was  palpably  not 
gold  was  rather  out  of  the  way. 

"You'd  better  keep  it  a  day  or  two  and  look 
it  over  and  make  up  your  mind  how  you  want 
127 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

it  set,  and  then  we'll  spring  it  on  them,"  he 
advised. 

But  now  it  was  finally  on  her  finger,  she  did 
not  want  to  think  it  would  ever  have  to  be 
taken  off  again.  She  drew  her  glove  over  it. 
The  great  facets  showed  sharp  angles  under 
the  thin  kid.  She  wished  the  sapphire  were  not 
quite  so  large,  so  difficult  to  reconcile  with 
everything  else.  Now  that  she  had  the  perfect 
thing  with  her,  clasping  her  so  heavily  around 
the  third  finger,  she  was  half  afraid  it  was  go 
ing  to  be  too  much  for  her,  after  all. 


128 


VII 

A    SPELL   IS    CAST 

IT  was  hers !  She  did  not  believe  it.  It  had 
been  done  too  quickly.  It  seemed  to  her 
she  had  hardly  felt  Harry  slip  it  on  her 
finger  before  they  had  left  the  shop  ;  that  she  had 
hardly  shaken  off  the  musty  inclosed  atmosphere, 
before  Harry  had  left  her  on  the  corner  of  Cali 
fornia  and  Powell  Streets — left  her  alone  with 
the  ring!  Still,  she  didn't  believe  she  had  it, 
even  while  she  looked  at  the  large  lump  it  made 
under  her  glove.  She  kept  feeling  it  with  a 
cautious  finger-tip. 

A  trio  of  girls  she  knew  flocked  off  the  Cali 
fornia  Street  car  and  surrounded  her.  They 
were  going  to  the  White  House  for  bargains  in 
shirt  waists.  They  wanted  to  carry  her  off  in 
their  company.  They  encompassed  her  in  a 
129 


chatter  of  lace  and  lingerie.  There  were  held  up 
to  her  all  the  interests  of  her  every-day  exist 
ence  ;  but  these  seemed  to  have  no  part  in  her  real 
life.  They  had  never  appeared  more  remote  and 
trivial.  She  kept  her  conscious  hand  in  the  folds 
of  her  skirt.  She  would  have  liked  to  strip  off 
her  glove  and  show  them  the  ring.  It  would  have 
entertained  them  so  much.  To  herself  its  enter 
tainment  was  of  the  Arabian  Nights — the  way 
of  its  finding,  its  beauty  in  the  false  setting,  the 
struggle  over  it  in  the  shop — all  were  wine  to  her 
imagination.  It  was  a  thing  to  conjure  adven 
ture  ;  it  was  a  talisman  of  romance. 

She  colored  faintly  as  she  mentally  corrected 
herself.  It  was  her  engagement  ring,  and  as 
such  she  had  never  once  thought  of  it.  Strange, 
when  all  the  forms  of  her  engagement  had  been 
so  well  observed ;  when  Harry  himself  repre 
sented  that  side  of  life  to  which  she  had  tried  to 
form  herself  from  as  far  back  as  the  old  days 
when  her  mother  had  made  fun  of  her  fancies. 
It  must  be  right,  she  thought,  this  life  of  conven 
tions  and  forms;  and  the  queer  way  she  saw 
130 


A     SPELL     IS     CAST 

things,  something  wrong  in  her.  But  because 
she  knew  herself  different,  and  because  she  felt 
life  without  understanding  it,  she  feared  it.  It 
was  too  big  to  take  hold  of  alone.  And  she  was 
so  alone ;  and  Harry  was  so  strong,  so  matter-of- 
fact  ;  alone  like  herself,  yet  adequate  in  the  world 
she  was  afraid  of.  She  had  accepted  him  as 
naturally,  and  yet  as  unreally,  as  she  took  all 
that  life,  and  to  the  moment  she  had  never  ques 
tioned  the  wisdom  or  the  happiness.  She  didn't 
question  now.  She  only  was  shocked  that  so 
large  a  fact  in  her  life  as  her  engagement  could 
be  completely  wiped  out  for  the  moment  by  a 
thing  so  trivial.  It  was  not  even  the  ring.  It 
was  the  feeling  she  had  about  the  ring.  Her 
imagination  was  always  running  away  with  her, 
as  it  had  the  night  at  the  club.  And  here  it  was, 
still  uncurbed,  speeding  her  forward  into  fields 
of  romance. 

She  went  over  whole  dramas — imaginary  his 
tories  of  chance  and  circumstance — woven  about 
the  ring,  as  she  walked  up  and  down  the  long, 
windy  hiUs2  westward  and  homeward,  the  blue 
131 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

bay  on  the  one  hand  beaten  green  under  the 
rising  "trade,"  and  the  fog  coming  in  before  her. 
With  the  experience  of  the  morning,  and  the 
exercise  and  the  lively  air,  her  spirits  were  riding 
high.  From  time  to  time  she  had  the  greatest 
longing  to  peep  again  at  the  sapphire,  but  not 
until  the  house  door  had  closed  after  her  did  she 
dare  draw  off  her  glove  and  look.  It  was  still 
glorious.  What  a  pity  she  must  take  it  off !  Yet 
that  point  Harry  had  made  about  not  showing  it 
had  been  too  sharp  to  be  disregarded.  But  what 
could  she  say,  supposing  Clara  asked  about  the 
morning's  expedition?  At  this  thought  all  her 
spring  deserted  her,  and  she  went  slowly  up  the 
stair.  Perhaps  Clara  had  forgotten  about  it, 
and  then  it  recurred  reassuringly  to  her  mind 
how  seldom  Clara  touched  anywhere  near  the 
subject  of  her  engagement. 

None  the  less,  she  went  very  softly  down  the 
hall,  anxious  lest  Clara  might  open  her  door 
and  ask  what  she  had  brought  home  with  her. 

But  even  in  the  refuge  of  her  own  'rooms  the 
ring  encircled  Flora  with  unease.  The  light 
132 


A     SPELL     IS     CAST 

of  it  on  her  finger  made  her  restless.  It  wasn't 
that  she  was  apprehensive  of  it,  but  she  could 
not  forget  it.  She  could  hear  the  maid  Marrika 
moving  about  in  the  room  beyond.  She  could 
hear  the  rustle  of  clothes  carried  to  and  fro. 
She  knew  there  were  things  to  dress  for — a 
luncheon,  and  a  bevy  of  teas — things  which 
must  be  gone  through  with,  things  which  at 
other  times  she  had  found  sufficiently  pleasur 
able.  But  now,  try  as  she  would  to  turn  her 
mind  to  these,  it  persistently  wandered  back  to 
the  jewel.  All  the  fine,  simple  pleasure  of  the 
morning  was  dazzled  out  by  it.  She  slipped  it 
off  her  finger  on  to  the  dressing-table,  and  it 
lay  among  her  laces  like  a  purple  prism,  cast  by 
some  unearthly  sun  in  a  magic  glass.  She  had 
jewels,  rubies  even — the  most  precious — but 
nothing  that  gave  her  this  sense  of  individual 
beauty,  of  beauty  so  keen  as  to  be  disturbing. 
She  emptied  her  jewel  casket  in  a  glittering 
heap  around  it.  It  shone  out  unquenched.  It 
had  not  been  the  dingy  little  shop,  and  the  dingy 
little  street,  and  the  odds  and  ends  of  jade  and 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

tarnished  silver  that  had  made  it  of  such  a 
value.  It  seemed  to  her  that  any  eye  would 
fix  it,  any  hand  pluck  it  out  first  from  that 
shining  heap  before  her. 

Marrika  was  coming  in,  and  quickly  Flora 
swept  the  jewels  and  the  sapphire  back  into  the 
casket,  turned  the  key  upon  them,  and  thrust 
it  back  in  the  far  corner  of  the  drawer.  She 
would  give  every  one  a  great  surprise  when  the 
ring  was  properly  set.  She  glanced  nervously 
over  her  shoulder  to  see  if  Marrika  had  noticed 
her  action.  The  Russian  had  been  moving  to 
and  fro  between  the  wardrobe  and  the  dressing- 
table  with  a  droning  thread  of  song.  And  now 
she  took  up  the  combs  and  brushes,  and  filling 
her  mouth  with  pins,  began  on  the  long  river 
of  yellow-brown  hair  that  flowed  down  Flora's 
back.  The  broad,  pale  face  reflected  beside  her 
own  in  the  mirror  was  reassuring  by  its  serene 
indifference.  She  had  soothing  hands,  Marrika. 
It  was  a  luxury  to  be  dressed  by  her,  a  mental 
soporific.  But  to-day  it  wrought  no  relaxation 
in  Flora's  tightened  nerves.  All  the  while  she 
134 


A     SPELL     IS     CAST 

was  being  combed  and  laced  and  hooked  her 
eyes  were  alertly  on  the  dressing-table  drawer, 
that  remained  a  little  open;  and  presently  she 
caught  herself  vaguely  speculating  on  how, 
after  she  had  been  fastened  up  and  into  her 
clothes  so  securely,  she  could  dispose  upon  her 
self  the  sapphire.  How  had  she  arrived  at  this 
consideration?  No  course  of  reasoning  led  up 
to  it.  She  was  annoyed  with  herself.  If  she 
wasn't  going  to  wear  the  ring  on  her  finger, 
and  show  it,  why  did  she  want  to  take  it  with 
her  at  all?  For  fear  it  might  be  lost?  Lost, 
in  her  jewel  box,  in  the  back  of  the  drawer! 
She  blushed  for  herself.  She  looked  severely 
at  her  guilty  reflection  in  the  mirror.  Perhaps 
she  did  look  tall;  yes,  and  outwardly  sophisti 
cated,  but  underneath  that  bold  exterior  Flora 
knew  she  was  only  the  smallest,  youngest,  most 
ridiculous  child  ever  born.  There  were  moments 
when  this  fact  appeared  to  her  more  vividly 
than  at  others.  One  had  been  the  other  night 
when  Kerr's  eyes  had  looked  through  and 
through  her;  and  here  she  was  again,  when 
135 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

she  was  going  to  a  girls'  luncheon,  and  most 
wanted  to  feel  competent,  stared  out  of  counte 
nance  by  the  wonderful  eye  of  a  ring. 

Through  the  long  afternoon  it  was  more  ap 
parent  to  her  than  the  faces  of  the  people 
around  her.  She  was  restless  to  get  back  to  it, 
but  people  talked  interminably.  At  the  luncheon 
they  talked  of  Kerr.  Flora  knew  these  girls 
felt  a  little  resentment  that  she  had  so  easily 
captured  Harry  Cressy ;  for  Harry  had  been 
more  than  an  eligible  man  in  the  little  city. 
He  had  been  an  eligible  personage.  Not  that  he 
had  money ;  not  that  his  family  tree  was  plainly 
planted  in  their  midst;  but  that  without  these 
two  things  he  had  achieved  what,  with  these 
things,  the  people  he  knew  were  all  striving 
for.  He  stood  before  them  as  the  embodiment 
of  what  they  most  believed  in — perfect  bodily 
splendor,  and  perfect  knowledge  of  how  to  get 
on  with  the  world ;  and  the  fact  that  he  wouldn't 
quite  be  one  of  them,  but  after  five  years  still 
stood  a  little  off — made  him  shine  with  greater 
brilliance,  especially  in  the  eyes  of  these  young 
136 


A     SPELL     IS     CAST 

girls.  It  was  hard,  they  seemed  to  feel,  that 
such  an  apparently  remote  and  difficult  person 
should  have  succumbed  so  easily;  and  now  that 
a  new  luminary  of  equal  luster  was  apparent  in 
their  sky,  Flora  felt  their  remarks  a  little 
triumphantly  aimed  at  her.  It  was  odd  to  her 
that  they  should  envy  her  anything,  especially 
those  one  or  two  exquisite  flowers  of  old  fami 
lies,  whose  lovely  eyes  saw  not  one  inch  farther 
than  her  turquoise  collar.  And  the  way  they 
talked  of  Kerr,  with  flourishes,  made  her  feel 
a  faint,  responsive  irritation  that  he  had  talked 
to  so  many  of  them  in  exactly  the  same  way. 

But  between  the  threads  of  interest  the  table 
group  wove  together,  kept  flashing  up  her  fur 
tive  desire  to  be  away,  to  be  at  home,  to  see 
what  had  happened  to  the  sapphire.  Of  course, 
she  knew  that  nothing  could  have  happened; 
but  she  wanted  to  look  at  it,  to  open  the  casket 
and  see  the  flash  of  it  before  her  eyes.  For  was 
she  quite  sure  that  it  was  not  one  of  those  fairy 
gifts,  which,  put  into  the  hand  in  a  blaze  of 
beauty,  may  be  found  in  the  pocket  as  withered 
137 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

leaves?  Yet  her  tenacious  nets  of  duty  caught 
and  caught,  and  again  caught  her,  so  that  when 
the  carriage  finally  fetched  her  home  it  was  be 
tween  lighted  street-lamps. 

They  were  dining  early  that  night  on  account 
of  the  Bullers'  box  party,  but  it  was  nearly 
eight  o'clock  before  Flora  reached  the  house. 
And  it  was,  of  course,  for  that  reason  that  she 
ran  up-stairs — ran  wildly,  regardlessly,  before 
the  eyes  of  Shima — and  along  the  hall,  her 
high  heels  clacking  on  the  hard  floors,  and 
through  her  bedroom  to  the  dressing-room, 
snatched  open  the  table  drawer,  unlocked  the 
casket  with  a  twitch  of  the  key — and,  ah,  it  was 
there !  It  was  really  real !  Why,  what  had  she 
expected?  She  was  laughing  at  herself. 

She  was  gay  in  her  relief  at  getting  back 
to  the  sapphire,  but  at  the  same  time  she  was 
already  wondering  what  she  should  do  about 
it  that  night — take  it  with  her  or  leave  it  alone? 
Dared  she  wear  it  on  her  finger  under  her 
glove?  Clara  might  notice  the  unfamiliar  form 
of  the  jewel  through  the  thin  kid.  Harry's 
138 


A     SPELL     IS     CAST 

warning  had  been  phrased  conventionally 
enough,  but  the  hints  his  words  conveyed  had 
expanded  in  her  mind — fear  not  only  of  Clara's 
laughter,  that  such  a  jewel  had  come  from  a 
junk  shop,  but  of  her  wonder,  her  questions, 
her  ability  of  getting  out  the  story  of  the  whole 
erratic  proceeding,  even  to  the  strange  panto 
mime  between  Harry  and  the  blue-eyed  China 
man.  Clara  was  marvelous ! 

Flora  watched  her  curiously  across  the  table 
that  evening,  wondering  what  was  that  quality 
of  hers  by  which  she  acquired.  Hitherto  Flora 
had  accepted  it  as  a  fact  without  question,  but 
now  she  had  a  desire  to  place  it.  It  was  not 
beauty,  for  though  Clara  was  pretty,  like  a  pol 
ished  Greuze,  she  was  colorless  and  flavorless, 
lacking  the  vivid  heat  of  magnetism.  More  prob 
ably  it  consisted  in  a  certain  sort  of  sweetness 
Clara  could  produce  on  occasions,  a  way  she  had 
of  looking  and  speaking  which  Flora  could  only 
describe  as  smooth.  But  smooth  without  texture 
or  softness ;  smooth  as  quick-flowing  water, 
smooth  as  glass — a  surface  upon  which  even  cau- 
139 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

tion  might  lose  its  equilibrium.  For  the  danger 
in  Clara  was  that  she  was  disarming.  There  was 
nothing  antagonistic  in  her.  One  noticed  her 
slowly.  The  flat  tones  of  her  voice  made  back 
ground  for  other  people's  conversations.  The 
pale  tints  of  her  gown  blended  with  the  pale 
tones  of  her  hair  and  flesh.  Beside  Clara's 
exquisite  gradations  Flora  felt  herself  without 
shades,  a  creature  of  violent  contrasts  and  im 
pulses.  If  Clara  had  been  going  to  carry  the 
ring  about  with  her  she  would  have  had  a  reason 
for  it.  But  Flora  had  nothing  but  a  silly 
fancy. 

She  made  up  her  mind  to  leave  the  sapphire 
at  home;  but  in  her  last  moment  in  her  room 
the  resolution  failed  her.  Harry,  of  course, 
would  be  angry  if  he  knew,  but  Harry  wouldn't 
see  the  thing  under  her  glove. 

She  came  down  to  where  Clara  was  waiting 
for  her,  with  the  guilty  feeling  of  a  child  who 
has  concealed  a  contraband  cake;  but  the  way 
Clara  looked  her  over  made  her  conscious  that 
she  had  not  concealed  her  excitement.  Clara 
140 


A     SPELL     IS     CAST 

was  always  cool.  What  would  it  be  like,  she 
wondered,  to  feel  the  same  about  everything? 
How  would  it  seem  to  be  no  more  elated  by 
the  expectation  of  listening  to  the  most  beauti 
ful  of  tenors  than  over  the  next  meeting  of 
the  Decade  Club?  Was  that  what  she  was  com 
ing  to  in  time?  Not  to-night,  she  thought; 
and  not,  at  least,  while  that  talisman  of  romance 
clasped  her  around  the  third  finger. 


141 


VIII 

A    SPARK   OF    HORROR 

THEY  found  Harry  waiting  for  them  in 
the  theater  lobby.    He  had  come  up  too 
late  from  Burlingame  to  do  more  than 
meet  the  party  there.    The  Bullers  were  already 
in  the  box,  he  said,  and  the  second  act  of  /'  Pag- 
liacci  j  ust  beginning. 

As  they  came  to  the  door  of  the  box  the 
lights  were  down,  the  curtain  up  on  a  dim  stage, 
and  the  chorus  still  floating  into  the  roof,  while 
the  three  occupants  of  the  box  were  indistin 
guishable  figures,  risen  up  and  shuffling  chairs 
to  the  front  for  Flora  and  Clara.  It  was  too 
dark  to  distinguish  faces. 

But  dark  as  it  was,  Flora  knew  who  was  sit 
ting  behind  her.  She  heard  him  speaking.  Un- 


A     SPARK     OF     HORROR 

der  the  notes  of  the  recitative  he  was  speaking 
to  Clara.  The  pleasure  of  finding  him  here  was 
sharpened  by  the  surprise.  She  listened  to  his 
voice,  the  mere  intonation  of  which  brought 
back  to  her  their  walk  through  the  Presidio 
woods  as  deliciously  as  if  she  were  still  there. 

Then,  as  the  tenor  took  up  the  theme,  all 
talking  ceased — Ella's  husky  whisper,  Clara's 
smoother  syllables,  and  the  flat,  slow,  variable 
voice  of  Kerr — the  whole  house  seemed  to  sink 
into  stiller  repose;  the  high  chords  floated 
above  the  heads  of  the  black  pit  like  colored 
bubbles,  and  Flora  forgot  the  sapphire  in  the 
triple  spell  of  the  singing,  the  darkness,  and  the 
face  she  was  yet  to  see.  She  felt  relaxed  and 
released  from  her  guard  by  this  darkness 
around  her,  that  blotted  out  the  sea  of  faces 
beneath,  that  dissolved  the  walls  and  high  gal 
leries,  that  obscured  the  very  outline  of  the  box 
where  she  sat,  until  she  seemed  to  be  poised,  half 
way  up  a  void  of  darkness,  looking  into  a  pit  in 
the  hollowness  of  which  a  voice  was  singing. 

The  stage  was  a  narrow  shelf  of  wood  swung 
143 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

in  that  void,  from  which  the  voice  sang,  and  a 
bare  finger  of  light  followed  it  about  from  place 
to  place.  The  sweet,  searching  tenor  notes,  the 
semblance  of  passion  and  reality  the  gesticulat 
ing  Frenchman  threw  over  all  the  stage,  and  the 
crescendo  of  the  tragedy  carried  her  into  a 
mood  that  barred  out  Ella,  barred  out  Clara, 
barred  out  Harry  more  than  any ;  but,  unac 
countably,  Kerr  was  still  with  her.  He  was 
there  by  no  will  of  hers,  but  by  some  essence 
of  his  own,  some  quality  that  linked  him,  as  it 
linked  her,  to  the  passionate  subtleties  of  life. 
He  seemed  to  her  the  eager  spirit  that  was 
prompting  and  putting  forward  this  comedy 
and  tragedy  playing  on  before  her.  She  heard 
him  reasserted,  vigorous,  lawless,  wandering,  in 
the  voice  of  the  mimic  strolling  player  address 
ing  his  mimic  audience.  The  appeal  of  the 
tenor  to  the  voiceless  galleries,  "Underneath 
this  little  play  we  show,  there  is  another  play," 
seemed  indeed  the  very  voice  of  Kerr  repeating 
itself.  And  with  the  climax  of  the  sharp 
tragedy  in  the  middle  of  the  comic  stage  she 
144 


A     SPARK     OF     HORROR 

placed  him  again,  but  placed  him  this  time  in 
the  mimic  audience  looking  on,  neither  applaud 
ing  nor  dissenting;  but  rather  as  if  he  watched 
the  play  and  played  it,  too. 

The  lights  went  up  with  a  spring.  A  wave 
of  motion  flickered  over  the  house,  the  talking 
voices  burst  forth  all  at  once,  and  she  saw  him, 
really  saw  him  for  the  first  time  that  evening, 
as  in  her  fancy,  part  of  the  audience ;  as  in  her 
fancy,  neither  applauding  nor  dissenting,  yet 
with  what  a  difference !  He  leaned  back  in  his 
chair,  and  leaned  his  head  a  little  back,  as  if, 
for  weariness,  he  wished  there  were  a  rest  be 
hind  it;  and  how  indifferently,  how  critically, 
how  levelly  he  surveyed  the  fluttered  house,  and 
the  figures  in  the  box  beside  him !  How  foreign 
he  appeared  to  the  ardent  spirit  who  had  dom 
inated  the  dark;  how  emptied  of  the  heat  of 
imagination,  how  worn,  how  dry ;  and  even  in 
his  salience,  how  singularly  pathetic!  He  was 
neither  the  satanic  person  of  the  first  night, 
nor  her  comrade  of  the  Presidio  hills.  And  if  the 
expression  of  his  face  was  not  quite  so  cheap  as 
145 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

cynicism,  it  was  just  the  absence  of  belief  in 
anything. 

She  felt  a  lump  in  her  throat,  an  ache  of  the 
cruelest  disappointment,  as  though  some  masker, 
masking  as  the  fire  of  life,  had  suddenly  re 
moved  the  covering  of  his  face  and  showed  her 
the  burnt-out  bones  beneath.  The  shift  from 
what  she  remembered  him  to  what  he  now  ap 
peared  was  too  rapid  and  considerable  for  her. 
She  found  herself  looking  at  him  through  a  mist 
of  tears — there  in  the  heart  of  publicity,  in  the 
middle  of  the  circle  of  red  velvet  curtains ! 

He  turned  and  saw  her.  She  watched  a  smile 
of  the  frankest  pleasure  rising,  as  it  were,  to 
the  surface  of  his  weary  preoccupation.  Some 
thing  had  delighted  him.  Why,  it  was  herself 
— just  her  being  there!  And  she  could  only 
helplessly  blink  at  him.  Was  ever  anything  so 
stupid  as  to  be  caught  in  tears  over  nothing! 
For  the  next  moment  he  had  caught  her.  She 
knew  by  the  change  of  his  look,  interrogative, 
amused,  incredulous.  He  straightened  and 
leaned  forward. 

146 


A     SPA  R  K     O  F     HORROR 

"Really,"  he  said,  "you  must  remember  that 
little  man  has  only  gone  out  for  a  glass  of 
beer." 

So  he  thought  it  was  the  tenor  who  had 
brought  her  to  the  point  of  tears. 

"Ah,  why  do  you  say  that?"  she  protested. 

He  continued  to  smile  indulgently  upon  her. 
"Would  you  really  rather  believe  it  true?" 

"I  don't  know.  But  I  wish  you  hadn't  thought 
of  the  beer." 

He  brought  the  glare  of  his  monocle  to  bear 
full  upon  her.  "Why  not?  It  is  all  we  make 
sure  of." 

So  he  had  taken  that  side  of  it.  By  his 
words  as  well  as  his  looks  he  repudiated  all  the 
gallant  show  of  romance  he  had  paraded  to  her 
before,  and  had  taken  up  the  cause  of  the  world 
as  flatly  as  Harry  could  have  done. 

"Oh,  if  to  be  sure  is  all  you  want,"  she  burst 
out;  "but  you  don't  mean  it!  Wouldn't  you 
rather  have  something  beautiful  you  weren't 
sure  of,  than  something  certain  that  didn't  "mat 
ter?" 

147 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

He  nodded  to  this  quite  casually,  as  if  it 
were  an  old  acquaintance. 

"Oh,  jes ;  but  the  time  comes  round  when  you 
want  to  be  sure  of  something.  The  sun  never 
sets  twice  alike  over  Mont  Pelee;  but  you  can 
always  get  the  same  brand  of  lager  to-day  that 
you  had  the  week  before."  He  looked  at  her 
with  a  faint  amusement.  "And  by  your  ex 
pression  I  take  it  you  don't  know  how  fine  some 
of  those  brands  are.  Life  is  not  half  bad — 
even  when  it  is  only  a  means  to  the  beer." 

Under  these  garish  lights,  in  the  middle  of 
this  theater  of  people,  facing  the  bland,  almost 
banal,  stare  of  that  monocle,  it  looked  exceed 
ingly  probable  that,  after  all,  in  spite  of  her 
dreaming,  this  was  what  life  would  prove  to  be. 
But  she  hated  the  thought,  as  she  hated  that 
Kerr  should  be  the  one  to  show  it  to  her;  as 
she  would  have  hated  her  ring  if,  after  all  its 
splendor  in  the  shop,  it  should  have  turned  out 
to  be  a  piece  of  colored  glass. 

"No,  no!  I  won't  believe  you,"  she  stoutly 
denied  him.  "There  is  more  in  life  than  you 
148 


A     SPARK     OF     HORROR 

can  touch.  You're  not  like  yourself  to  say  there 
is  not." 

He  laughed,  but  rather  shortly. 

"My  dear  child,  forgive  me ;  I'm  sulky  to 
night.  I  feel,  as  I  felt  at  eighteen,  that  the 
world  has  treated  me  badly.  I've  lost  my  luck." 

The  way  his  voice  dropped  at  the  last 
sounded  to  her  the  weariest  thing  she  had  ever 
heard.  He  settled  back  in  his  chair  again,  and 
looked  moodily  out  across  the  brilliant  house. 

"I'm  sorry."  Her  tone  was  sweetly  vague. 
What  could  be  the  matter  with  him?  Then,  half 
timidly,  she  rallied  him.  "If  you  go  on  like 
this,  I  shall  have  to  show  you  my  talisman." 

"Oh,  have  you  indeed  a  talisman?"  he 
humored  her.  And  it  was  as  if  he  said,  "Oh, 
have  you  a  doll?"  He  did  not  even  turn  his 
head  to  look  at  her. 

She  was  chilled.  She  felt  the  disappoint 
ment,  that  his  quick  smile  had  lightened,  return 
upon  her.  She  hardly  noticed  the  rise  of  the 
curtain  on  the  second  little  play,  and  the  sing 
ing  voices  did  not  reach  her  with  any  poignancy. 
149 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

She  was  vaguely  aware  of  movements  in  the 
box — of  Harry's  coming  in,  of  Clara's  little 
rustle  making  room  for  him,  of  the  shift  of 
Ella's  chair  away  from  the  business  of  listening, 
toward  him,  and  her  husky  whisper  going  on 
with  some  prolonged  tale  of  dull  escapade;  but 
to  Flora  they  all  made  only  a  banal  background 
for  the  brooding  silence  of  her  companion.  He 
had  thrown  his  mood  over  her  until  she  was 
ready  to  doubt  even  the  potency  of  her  talisman 
to  counteract  it. 

She  felt  of  the  stone.  She  drew  off  her  glove 
and  tried  to  look  at  it  in  the  dim  light,  but 
couldn't  get  a  gleam  out  of  it.  She  was  as  im 
patient  for  the  lights  to  go  up  that  she  might 
secretly  be  cheered  by  its  wonder,  as  she  had 
been  that  afternoon  to  get  back  from  the 
luncheon,  and  make  sure  it  was  still  in  the 
drawer.  She  must  see  it  in  spite  of  Clara  at 
her  right  hand,  whose  little  chiseled  profile 
might  turn  upon  her  at  any  moment  a  full  face 
of  inquiry. 

She  held  her  left  hand  low  in  the  shadow  of 
150 


A     SPARK     OF     HORROR 

her  chair;  and  if,  as  the  lights  went  up  again, 
there  was  any  change  in  the  sapphire,  it  was 
merely  a  sharper  brilliance,  as  if,  like  an  eye,  it 
had  moods,  and  this  was  one  of  its  moments  of 
excitement.  In  its  extraordinary  luster  it  seemed 
to  possess  a  beauty  that  could  not  be  valued ;  and 
she  wanted  to  hold  it  up  to  Kerr,  to  see  if  she 
couldn't  startle  him  out  of  his  mood — to  see  if  he 
wouldn't  respond  to  it,  "Yes,  there  is  more  in  it 
than  you  can  touch." 

She  turned  to  him  with  the  daring  flash  of 
timid  spirits.  It  was  so  sharp  a  motion  that  he 
started  instantly  from  his  reverie  to  meet  it,  but 
his  alacrity  was  mechanical.  She  felt  the  smile  he 
summoned  was  slow,  as  if  he  returned,  from  a 
long  distance,  a  little  painfully  to  his  present 
surroundings. 

The  Intermezzo  was  playing,  and  to  speak 
under  the  music  he  leaned  so  close  his  shoulder 
touched  her  chair.  Through  that  narrow  space 
between  them,  almost  beneath  his  eyes,  she  moved 
her  hand — a  gesture  so  slightly  emphasized  as 
to  seem  accident.  He  had  started  to  speak,  but 
151 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

her  motion  seemed  to  stop  his  tongue.  He  looked 
hard  at  her  hand,  and  something  violent  in  his 
intentness  made  her  clutch  the  side  of  the  chair. 
Instantly  she  met  his  look,  so  fiercely,  cruelly 
challenging,  that  it  took  her  like  a  blow.  For  a 
moment  they  looked  at  each  other,  her  eyes  wide 
with  fright,  his  narrowed  to  a  glare  under  the 
terrible  intentness  of  his  brows.  What  had  she 
done?  What  threatened  her?  What  could  save 
her  in  this  sea  of  people  ?  Then,  while  she  gazed, 
his  challenge  burned  out  to  a  pale  hard  scrutiny, 
that  faded  to  no  expression  at  all — or  was  it  that 
any  expression  would  have  seemed  dim  after  the 
terrible  one  that  had  flashed  across  his  face? 

She  was  as  shaken  as  if  he  had  seized  hold  of 
her.  If  he  had  snatched  the  ring  off  her  finger 
she  wouldn't  have  been  more  shocked.  The 
whole  box  must  be  transfixed  by  him,  and  the 
whole  house  be  looking  at  nothing  but  their  lit 
tle  circle  of  horror !  She  was  ready  for  it.  She 
was  braced  for  anything  but  the  fact  which  ac 
tually  confronted  her — that  no  one  had  noticed 
them  at  all.  It  was  monstrous  that  such  a  thing 
152 


A    SPARK    OF     HORROR 

could  have  been  without  their  knowing!  But 
there  was  no  face  in  all  the  orchestra,  the 
crowded  galleries,  or  the  tiers  of  boxes  to  affirm 
that  anything  had  happened;  no  face  in  their 
own  box  had  even  stirred,  but  Clara's,  and  that 
had  merely  turned  from  profile  to  the  full, 
faintly  inquiring,  mild,  and  palely  pink  in  the 
warm  reflections  of  the  red  velvet  curtains. 

And  what  could  Clara  have  seen,  if  she  had 
seen  at  all,  but  Flora  a  little  paler  than  usual 
with  a  hand  that  trembled;  and  what  worse 
could  Clara  conjecture  than  that  she  was  being 
silly  about  Kerr?  She  turned  slowly  toward  him, 
and  looked  at  him  with  a  courage  that  was  part 
of  her  fear.  But  wasn't  she,  in  a  way,  being 
silly  about  Kerr?  What  had  become  of  his  ex 
pression  that  had  threatened  her?  There  was 
nothing  left  of  it  but  her  own  violent  impres 
sion — and  the  longer  Kerr  sat  there,  talking 
from  her  to  Clara,  from  Clara  to  Judge  Buller, 
his  eyes  keeping  pace  with  his  light  conversa 
tional  flights,  the  less  Flora  felt  sure  he  had 
ever  fixed  her  with  that  intensity. 
153 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

And  yet  the  thing  had  actually  happened.  Its 
evidence  was  before  her.  He  had  been  silent. 
Now  he  was  talking.  He  had  been  absent.  Now 
she  thought  she  had  never  seen  him  more  vividly 
concerned  with  the  moment.  Yet  for  all  his  cool 
looks  and  diffuse  talk  around  the  box,  she  felt 
uneasily  that  his  concern  was  pointed  at  her, 
and  that  he  would  never  let  her  go.  He  only 
waited  for  the  cover  of  the  last  act  to  come  back 
to  her  single-handed. 

She  would  have  deflected  his  attack,  but  it  was 
too  quick,  too  unexpected  for  her  to  do  more 
than  sit  helpless,  and  let  him  lift  up  her  left 
hand,  delicately  between  thumb  and  finger,  as  if 
in  itself  it  was  some  rare,  fine  curio,  and,  bend 
ing  close,  contemplate  the  sapphire  unwinkingly. 
She  had  an  instant  when  she  thought  she  must 
cry  out,  but  how  impossible  in  the  awful  pub 
licity  of  her  place — a  pinnacle  in  the  face  of 
thousands !  And  after  the  first  fluttered  impulse 
came  a  certain  reassurance  in  such  a  frank  and 
trivial  action.  For  all  its  intensity,  how  could  it 
be  construed  otherwise  than  a  lively  if  unconven- 
154 


A     SPARK     OF     HORROR 

tional  interest  ?  It  must  have  been  her  own  fancy 
which  had  discerned  anything  more  than  that  in 
his  first  look  at  her.  And  yet,  when  he  had  laid 
her  hand  lightly  back,  and  readjusted  his  mon 
ocle,  and  looked  out,  away  from  her,  across  the 
black  house,  she  didn't  know  whether  she  was 
more  reassured  or  troubled  because  he  had  not 
spoken  a  word.  Yet  the  next  moment  he  looked 
around  at  her. 

"We  shan't  meet  every  evening  in  such  a  way 
as  this,"  he  said,  and  left  the  statement  dangling 
unanswerable  between  them.  It  sounded  por 
tentous — final.  She  wondered  that  in  the  mid 
dle  of  her  fear  it  could  strike  such  a  sharp  note 
of  regret  in  her.  She  knew  she  would  regret 
not  meeting  him  again ;  and  yet  she  shrank  from 
the  thought  she  could  still  want  to  meet  him. 
By  one  look  her  whole  feeling  of  sympathy,  of 
reliance,  of  admiration,  that  had  flowed  out  to 
him  so  naturally  she  had  scarcely  been  aware  of 
it,  had  been  troubled  and  mixed  with  fear.  She 
couldn't  answer.  She  could  only  look  at  him 
with  a  reflection  of  her  trouble  in  her  face. 
155 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

"Are  you  surprised  that  I  thought  of  that?" 
he  inquired.  "It's  not  so  odd  as  you  seem  to 
think  that  I  should  want  to  see  you  again.  I 
don't  want  to  leave  it  to  chance;  do  you?"  He 
shot  the  question  at  her  so  suddenly,  with  such 
a  casual  eye,  and  such  dry  gravity  of  mouth, 
that  he  had  her  admission  out  of  her  before  she 
realized  the  extent  of  its  meaning.  And  the  way 
he  took  that  admission  for  granted,  and  over 
looked  her  confusion,  made  her  feel  that  for  the 
sake  of  whatever  he  was  after  he  was  intention 
ally  ignoring  what  it  did  not  suit  his  convenience 
to  see.  She  knew  he  must  have  seen ;  that  every 
moment  while  she  had  changed  and  fluttered  his 
eye  had  never  left  her. 

"Then  when  are  you  at  home  ?"  he  asked  her ; 
and  by  his  tone,  he  conveyed  the  impression  that 
he  was  only  making  courteous  response  to  some 
invitation  she  had  offered  him;  though,  when 
she  thought,  she  had  not  offered  it,  he  had  got 
it  out  of  her.  He  had  got  it  by  sheer  imperti 
nence.  But  none  the  less  he  had  it.  She  couldn't 
escape  him  there. 

156 


A     SPARK     OF     HORROR 

She  answered  somewhat  stiffly :  "Fridays,  sec 
ond  and  fourth." 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  humorous  twist  of 
mouth.  "What?  So  seldom?" 

She  was  impotent  if  he  wouldn't  be  snubbed ; 
but  at  the  worst  she  wouldn't  be  cornered.  "Oh, 
dear,  no — but  people  who  come  at  other  times 
take  a  chance." 

"Does  that  mean  that  I  may  take  mine  to 
morrow?" 

He  was  pressing  her  too  hard.  Why  was  he 
so  anxious  to  see  her,  as  he  had  not  been  the 
first  night  or  yesterday,  or  even  ten  minutes  ago  ? 
She,  who,  ten  minutes  ago,  would  have  been 
glad,  now  was  doing  her  best  to  put  him  off. 
She  was  silent  a  moment,  considering  the  con 
ventions,  and  then,  like  him,  she  abandoned  them. 
Without  a  word  she  turned  away  from  him. 
Whatever  she  said,  he  had  her.  But,  if  she  said 
nothing  and  still  he  came  to-morrow,  whatever 
she  did  then,  he  would  have  to  take  the  conse 
quences  of  his  insistence.  Her  only  desire  now 
was  to  evade  him,  lest  he  should  force  her  out 
157 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

of  her  non-committal  attitude.  She  wanted  to 
shield  herself  from  further  pursuit. 

She  couldn't  escape  yet,  for  the  figures  on  the 
stage  were  still  gesticulating  and  trilling,  and 
the  people  around  her,  in  the  small  inclosure 
where  she  sat,  hemmed  her  in  so  that  she  could 
no  more  move  away  from  Kerr  than  if  she  had 
been  that  impaled  specimen  he  had  made  her 
feel  at  their  first  meeting.  The  most  she  could 
do  was  to  turn  away,  but  even  thus,  with  her 
eyes  averted  and  her  ears  full  of  Ella's  voice, 
she  was  still  acutely  aware  of  him,  sitting  look 
ing  straight  before  him  across  the  black  house 
with  a  face  worn,  wary,  weathered  to  any  catas 
trophe,  and  such  an  air  of  being  alertly  fixed  on 
something  a  long  way  off,  that  her  silence  made 
no  more  difference  to  him  than  her  flutterings 
and  her  rudeness.  And  yet  she  knew  he  was 
only  waiting;  waiting  his  chance  to  get  at  her 
again  and  make  her  commit  herself;  and  that, 
she  was  determined,  should  not  happen. 

What  had  already  happened,  through  its  very 
violence,  had  left  an  impression  like  a  dream. 
158 


A     SPARK     OF     HORROR 

It  seemed  unreal,  and  yet  it  had  made  her  forget 
everything  else — the  stage,  the  people  around 
her,  and  even  the  very  sapphire  that  had  gen 
erated  her  inexplicable  situation.  She  drew  her 
glove  over  the  ring.  The  lights  were  imminent. 
It  would  be  hard  to  hide  the  great  flash  of  the 
jewel.  And  besides,  she  didn't  trust  it.  She 
couldn't  tell  in  what  direction  it  might  not  strike 
out  a  spark  of  horror  next. 

The  rustle  of  final  departure  was  all  over  the 
house.  The  people  in  the  box  were  stirring  and 
beginning  to  stand  up ;  and  Flora  saw  Kerr 
turn  and  look  at  her.  She  wanted  some  one  to 
stand  between  herself  and  Kerr,  and  it  was  to 
Harry  that  she  turned;  not  alone  that  he  was 
so  large  and  adequate,  but  because  she  thought 
she  saw  in  him  an  inclination  to  step  into  that 
very  place  where  she  wanted  him.  She  saw  he 
was  a  little  sullen,  and  though  she  didn't  suspect 
him  quite  of  jealousy,  she  wondered  if  he  had 
not  a  right  to  blame  her  for  the  appearance  of 
flirtation  that  she  and  Kerr  must  have  presented. 
Then  how  much  more  might  he  blame  her  for 
159 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

what  she  had  actually  done — for  deliberately 
showing  the  sapphire  to  Kerr !  The  very  thought 
of  it  frightened  her.  She  knew  she  was  rattling 
to  Harry  all  the  while  he  fetched  her  cloak  and 
put  it  on  her,  and  she  was  glad  now  of  that  abil 
ity  she  had  cultivated  in  herself  of  making  a 
smooth  crust  of  talk  over  her  seething  feelings. 
She  talked  the  harder,  she  even  took  hold  of  Har 
ry's  arm  to  be  sure  of  keeping  him  there  between 
her  and  what  she  was  afraid  of,  as  they  came  out 
on  the  sidewalk  and  stood  waiting  in  the  windy 
night  for  the  approach  of  their  carriage  lights. 
Row  upon  row  of  street  lamps  flared  in  the 
traveling  gusts.  The  midnight  noises  of  the 
city  were  at  their  loudest;  and  half  their  vol 
ume  seemed  to  be  a  scattered  chorus  of  hoarse 
voices  yelling  all  together  like  a  pack  of  wolves. 
Thin,  ragged  shapes  shot  in  and  out  among  the 
crowd,  ducked  under  horses'  feet  and  cut  wild 
zigzags  across  the  street  like  flying  goblins.  The 
sense  of  their  cry  was  indistinguishable,  but  it 
was  the  same — the  same  inarticulate  shape  of 
sound  on  every  tongue.  First  one  throat,  then 
160 


A    SPARK    OF     HORROR 

another  took  up  the  raucous  singsong  shout, 
then  all  together  again,  as  if  the  pack  were  in 
full  cry  on  the  scent  of  something.  What  was 
this  fresh  quarry  of  the  press,  Flora  wondered, 
that  made  it  give  tongue  so  hideously?  The 
hunting  note  of  it  made  her  want  to  cover  her 
ears,  and  yet  she  strained  to  catch  its  meaning. 
She  had  stooped  her  head  to  the  carriage 
door,  when  Harry  stopped  and  took  one  of  the 
damp  papers  from  a  crier  in  the  pack.  She  saw 
the  head-line.  It  covered  half  the  sheet — the 
great  figure  that  was  offered  for  the  return  of 
the  Chatworth  ring. 


161 


IX 

ILLUMINATION 

JUST  when  the  two  ideas  had  coalesced  in 
her  mind  Flora  couldn't  be  sure.   It  had 
been  some  time  in  the  first  dark  hour  that 
she  had  spent  wide  awake  in  her  bed.    There 
had  been  two  ideas  distinctly.   Two  impressions 
of  the  evening  remained  with  her;  and  the  last 
one,  the  great  figures  that  had  stared  at  her 
from  the  paper,  the  fact  that  had  been  Harry's 
secret,  made  common  now  in  round  numbers,  had 
for  the  moment  swallowed  up  the  first. 

For  all  the  way  home  that  sum  was  kept  be 
fore  her  by  Clara's  talk.  She  could  remember 
nothing  of  that  talk  except  that  it  hadn't  been 
able  for  a  moment  to  leave  the  Chatworth  ring 
alone.  It  had  been  aimed  at  Harry,  but  it  had 


ILLU  M IN ATION 

fallen  to  Flora  herself  to  answer  Clara's  quick 
speculations,  for  Harry  had  been  obstinately 
silent,  though  not  indifferent,  as  if  in  his  own 
mind  he  was  as  unable  to  leave  it  alone  as 
Clara.  One  with  his  silence,  one  with  her  talk, 
they  had  written  the  figures  of  the  reward  so 
blazingly  in  Flora's  mind  that  for  the  moment 
she  could  see  nothing  else.  Yet  now  she  was  alone 
her  first  adventure  recurred  to  her.  As  soon  as 
she  was  quiet*  in  the  dark  there  came  back  with 
reminiscent  terror  the  look  that  Kerr  had  given 
her  in  the  box.  She  wasn't  really  afraid  of  Kerr 
himself.  She  was  afraid  of  the  meaning  of  his 
look  which  she  didn't  understand.  It  only  es 
tablished  in  her  mind  a  great  significance  for 
the  sapphire,  if  it  could  produce  such  an  ex 
pression  on  a  human  face.  It  had  given  him 
more  than  a  mere  expression.  It  had  given  him 
an  impulse  for  pursuit,  as  if,  like  a  magnet,  it 
was  fairly  dragging  him.  He  had  covered  his 
impulse  by  his  very  frankness,  but  she  knew  he 
had  pursued  her — that  for  the  matter  of  seeing 
her  again  he  had  hunted  her  down.  And  what 
163 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

had  followed  that?  Why,  she  was  back  again  to 
the  great  figures  in  the  paper. 

At  first  it  seemed  as  though  she  had  taken  a 
clean  leap  from  one  subject  to  another.  She  had 
in  no  way  connected  them.  But  all  at  once  they 
were  connected.  She  couldn't  separate  them. 
She  didn't  know  whether  she  had  been  stupid  not 
to  have  seen  them  so  before,  or  whether  she  was 
stupid  to  see  them  so  now.  For  the  thought  that 
had  sprung  up  in  her  mind  was  monstrous.  It 
startled  her  so  broad  awake  that  she  sat  up  in 
bed  to  meet  it  the  more  alertly.  She  sat  up 
trembling.  She  felt  like  one  who  has  walked  a 
long  way  in  a  wood,  hearing  crafty  footsteps 
following  in  the  bushes.  And  now  the  beast  had 
sprung  out,  and  she  was  panting,  terrified,  not 
knowing  which  way  to  run. 

The  room  was  dark  except  for  now  and  again 
the  yellow  square  of  light,  from  some  passing 
cable  car,  traveling  along  the  ceiling.  The  four 
walls  around  her,  their  dark  bulks  of  furniture 
and  light  ripple  of  moving  curtains,  shut  her  up 
with  this  monster  of  her  mind.  The  longer  she 
164 


ILLUMINATION 

looked  at  it  the  less  she  felt  sure  it  was  real, 
and  yet  it  was  before  her.  It  was  there  with 
none  of  the  loveliness  of  her  first  fancies  about 
the  ring.  It  was  there  with  grisly  reality.  It 
had  not  been  conjured  up.  It  had  sprung  upon 
her  from  the  solid  actualities  of  the  night.  And, 
yes,  of  the  day  before — and  the  night  before 
that.  Oh,  she  had  known  well  enough  that  there 
had  been  something  wrong  at  the  goldsmith's 
shop.  She  had  felt  it  even  before  she  had  seen 
the  sapphire;  and  afterward  how  it  had  held 
them,  both  herself  and  Harry!  To  have  moved 
Harry  it  must  be  something  indeed!  Had  he 
suspected  it  then,  or  had  he  only  wondered? 

If  he  had  suspected  why  hadn't  he  spoken  of 
it?  Well,  her  appalling  fancy  prompted,  hadn't 
he  spoken  of  it? — though  not  to  her.  There 
flashed  back  to  her  the  memory  of  him  there  in 
the  back  of  the  shop  with  the  blue-eyed  China 
man.  How  furiously  he  had  assailed  the  little 
man !  How  uneasily,  with  what  a  dissatisfied  air 
he  had  looked  at  the  ring  even  after  it  was  on 
her  finger,  as  if,  after  all,  he  had  not  compassed 
165 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

what  he  had  wanted.  She  could  be  almost  sure 
that  the  monstrous  idea  which  had  just  overtaken 
her  had,  however  fleetingly,  flashed  before 
Harry's  mind  in  the  goldsmith's  shop.  But 
surely  he  couldn't  have  entertained  it  for  a  mo 
ment.  That  was  impossible,  or  he  would  never 
have  let  her  take  the  sapphire — Harry,  who  had 
seen  the  ring,  the  very  Crew  Idol  itself,  within 
the  twenty-four  hours. 

"A  little  heathen  god  curled  round  himself 
with  a  big  blue  stone  on  the  top  «of  his  head." 
Harry  hadn't  said  what  sort  of  stone  it  was; 
but  Kerr  had  said  it  was  a  sapphire.  There  was 
a  sapphire  on  her  hand  now.  She  touched  it  with 
her  finger-tips  cautiously,  as  if  to  touch  some 
thing  hot.  So  near  to  her !  In  the  same  room 
with  her !  On  her  own  hand !  It  was  too  much  to 
be  alone  with  in  the  dark !  She  reached  out 
softly,  as  if  she  feared  to  disturb  some  threaten 
ing  presence  lurking  around  her,  and  lit  the 
small  night  lamp  on  the  low  table  by  her  bed. 
The  shade  was  yellow,  and  that  contended  with 
the  blue  of  the  sapphire,  but  couldn't  break  its 
166 


ILLUMINATION 

light.  With  the  first  flash  of  its  splendor  in  her 
face  she  felt  certainty  threatening  her.  She 
shook  the  ring  quickly  off  her  finger  and  it  fell 
with  a  light  clatter  on  the  table's  marble  top — 
fell  with  the  sapphire  face  down,  and  all  its  light 
hidden.  She  took  it  up  again  a  little  fearfully, 
as  if  it  might  have  got  some  harm;  and  again 
while  she  looked  at  it  it  seemed  to  her  that  noth 
ing  that  happened  about  this  jewel  could  be  too 
extraordinary.  If  only  it  had  been  less  wonder 
ful,  less  beautiful,  she  would  not  have  felt  so 
terribly  afraid !  She  put  it  back  on  the  table  and 
for  a  moment  held  her  hand  over  it,  as  if  she  im 
prisoned  a  living  thing. 

Then,  without  looking  again,  she  got  out 
of  bed  and  went  to  the  window.  It  overlooked 
the  dark  steep  of  the  garden,  the  moving 
trees  and  the  lighter  plane  of  the  water.  She 
leaned  out,  far  out.  Black  housetops  marched 
against  the  bay,  and  between  them,  light  by 
light,  her  eyes  followed  the  street-lamps  down 
to  the  shore.  If  one  could  recover  from  such  a 
nightmare  as  she  had  it  would  be  by  leaning  out 
167 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

into  and  facing  this  wide  soft  dark.  These 
shapeless  roofs  just  below  her  the  night  made 
mysterious;  and  yet  they  covered  people  that 
she  knew — her  friends — kind,  safe  people! 
There  had  been  nights  when  the  city,  through 
this  very  window,  had  seemed  to  her  a  savage 
place;  but  now  the  wicked  fear  that  stood  be 
hind  her — the  fear  that  had  got  inside  her  house, 
that  had  slipped  unseen  through  the  circle  of 
friends,  that  stood  behind  her  now,  filling  her 
own  room  with  its  shadowy  menace — had  trans 
formed  the  city  into  a  very  haven  of  security. 

Oh,  to  escape  out  of  this  window  into  the  in 
nocent,  sleeping  city,  away  from  the  horror  at 
her  back!  To  look  in  from  the  outside  and  be 
even  sure  there  was  a  horror !  And  if  there  was, 
to  run  away  into  the  wide  soft  dark!  But  how 
did  she  know,  her  fantastic  idea  persisted,  that 
the  sapphire  wouldn't  follow  her — the  sapphire 
itself — the  embodiment  of  her  fear?  Then  she 
dared  not  be  driven  out. 

But  there  was  another  way  to  be  rid  of  it. 
The  real  idea  occurred  to  her.  How  easy  it 
168 


ILLUMINATION 

would  be  to  take  it — that  beautiful  thing — and 
throw  it;  throw  it  as  hard  as  she  could,  and  let 
the  night  take  care  of  it.  The  window  was  open, 
as  if  it  stood  ready,  and  there  was  the  ring  on 
the  table.  She  went  to  it,  looked  at  it  a  moment 
without  touching  it,  holding  her  hands  away. 

Then  with  a  little  shiver  she  backed  away  from 
it  and  sat  down  on  the  foot  of  the  bed.  She  looked 
pale  and  little,  as  if  the  eye  of  the  ring,  blazing 
under  the  feeble  lamp,  like  the  evil  eye,  had 
sapped  her  fire  and  youth.  The  only  thing  about 
her  of  any  size  and  color  was  the  heavy  braid 
of  hair  fallen  over  her  shoulder.  She  hugged 
her  arms  around  her  updrawn  knees,  and  resting 
her  chin  upon  them  eyed  the  sapphire  bravely. 

"What  shall  I  do  with  you  ?"  she  somberly  in 
quired  of  it.  "You  are  a  dreadful  thing.  I 
don't  know  where  you  came  from  nor  what  you 
are,  but  I  am  afraid — I  am  afraid  you  are — " 
She  hesitated.  The  sapphire  lay  shining  like 
some  idol  set  up  for  worship,  and  in  spite  of 
herself  its  beauty  moved  her,  if  not  to  worship, 
at  least  to  awe  and  fear. 
169 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

"I  suppose  you  know  I  can't  throw  you  away," 
she  murmured,  "and  yet  I  can't  keep  you !"  She 
pondered,  chin  in  hand.  To  take  it  to  Harry ! 
That  seemed  the  natural  thing  to  do — the  sim 
plest  way  to  be  rid  of  it.  She  hesitated. 

"If  I  only  knew!  If  I  only  were  sure!"  She 
locked  her  fingers  closer,  staring  hard.  If  it 
had  been  the  whole  Crew  Idol,  the  undismembered 
god  himself,  then  there  would  have  been  less  ter 
ror,  and  one  plain  thing  to  do.  She  looked  hard 
at  the  sapphire  setting,  as  if  she  hoped  to  dis 
cover  upon  its  brilliance  some  tell-tale  trace  of 
old  soft  gold;  but  there  was  only  one  great, 
glassy,  polished  eye,  and  out  of  what  head  it 
had  come,  whether  from  the  forehead  of  the 
Crew  Idol,  or  from  that  of  some  unheralded 
deity,  who  was  there  who  could  tell  her  ? 

She  tried  to  summon  a  coherent  thought,  but 
again  it  was  only  a  flash  out  of  the  darkness. 

"Kerr!    Why,  he  knows  more  than  I."    She 

looked  at  this  stupidly  for  a  moment  as  if  it 

were  too  large  to  take  in  at  once.    Of  course  he 

must  have  known !   Why  hadn't  she  thought  of 

170 


ILLUMINATION 

that  before  ?  Why  hadn't  she  thought  of  it  that 
first  moment,  when  he  had  turned  on  her  in  the 
box  with  such  terrible  eyes?  She  drew  in  her 
shoulders,  looking  all  around  at  the  dim  cor 
ners  of  the  room  which  the  lamp  flame  failed  to 
penetrate.  Behind  her  present  lively  fear  a 
second  shadow  was  growing,  more  dim,  more 
formless,  more  vast  and  dubious. 

What  series  of  circumstances  might  have  led 
up  to  Kerr's  knowledge  she  could  not  dream.  He 
was  one  of  whom  nothing  was  incredible.  From 
the  first  moment  his  face  had  shot  into  the  light, 
from  the  moment  she  had  heard  his  voice,  like 
color  in  the  level  voices  around  him,  she  had 
been  bewildered  by  his  variety.  He  had  caught 
her  up  to  the  clouds.  He  had  whirled  her  along 
dubious  levels,  and  more  than  once  he  had  shown 
her  that  the  lines  she  had  supposed  drawn  so 
sharply  between  this  and  that  could  no  more  be 
discerned  than  meridians  on  green  earth. 

If  she  had  noticed  any  earnestness  in  him,  it 
was  his  relish,  his  gusto  for  the  whole  of  life. 
He  had  no  theory  to  set  up.  Just  as  it  was  he 
171 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

took  it.  If  he  persisted  in  requiring  people  to 
be  themselves  it  was  for  no  good  to  themselves, 
but  for  the  pleasure  he  himself  got  out  of  it. 
If  he  made  society  into  a  little  ball,  and  threw 
it  away,  it  was  only  to  show  it  could  be  done. 

And  where,  she  asked  herself  in  a  summing 
up,  might  such  a  man  not  be  found?  But  there 
were  few  places,  indeed,  in  even  the  broadest 
plain  of  possibility,  which  could  hold  knowledge 
of  so  particular  and  piercing  a  quality  as  his 
look  had  implied.  There  had  been  so  much  more 
than  curiosity  or  surprise  in  it.  She  could 
hardly  face  the  memory  of  it,  so  cruelly  it  had 
struck  her.  There  was  no  doubt  in  her  mind 
that  Kerr  had  seen  the  ring.  Somewhere  in  the 
pageant  of  his  experience  he  had  met  it,  known 
it — but  what  he  wanted  of  it — 

She  broke  off  that  thought,  and  looked  long 
at  the  little  flame  of  the  lamp.  It  was  strange, 
but  there  was  no  doubt  in  her  mind  but  that  he 
wanted  it.  That  had  been  the  strongest  thing 
in  his  look.  She  felt  herself  picking  her  way 
along  a  very  narrow  path,  one  step  over  either 
172 


ILLUMINATION 

edge  of  which  would  plunge  her  chasms  deep. 
Now  she  snatched  at  a  frail  sapling  to  save  her 
self.  The  fact  that  Kerr  knew  her  stone  didn't 
prove  it  belonged  to  the  Crew  Idol.  And  if  it 
didn't — if  it  wasn't  the  crown  of  the  heathen 
god,  then  her  whole  dreadful  supposition  fell 
to  pieces.  But  she  hadn't  proved  it  and  the  sim 
plest  way  was  just  to  ask  Kerr.  Her  chance  for 
that  was  the  chance  he  had  fought  so  hard  for, 
the  chance  of  their  meeting  the  next  day. 

She  hadn't  wanted  that  meeting  when  he  had 
first  asked  her  for  it  in  the  box.  She  had  feared 
it  then,  and  all  the  more  she  feared  it  now,  be 
cause  now  she  would  have  to  do  more  than  de 
fend  herself.  She  would  take  the  offensive ;  she 
would  make  the  attack,  now  that  she  had  a  ques 
tion  to  ask.  Why  should  the  thought  of  it 
frighten  her?  If  this  was  not  the  Crew  sapphire 
she  would  be  no  worse  off  than  she  had  been.  If 
it  was,  her  course  would  be  clear.  It  seemed  it 
should  be  simple,  it  should  be  easy  to  face  Kerr 
with  her  question ;  but  she  was  possessed  by  the 
apprehension  that  it  would  be  neither.  Would 
173 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

the  question  she  had  to  ask  be  a  safe  thing  to 
give  him?  And  if  she  dared  undertake  it  and 
should  be  overpowered  after  all — then  every 
thing  would  be  lost. 

What  the  "everything"  was  she  feared  to  lose 
would  not  come  clear  to  her.  The  only  thing 
that  did  emerge  definitely  from  the  agitation  of 
her  mind  was  the  knowledge  that  this  question 
that  had  been  thrust  upon  her  made  it  tenfold 
more  difficult  to  meet  Kerr.  And  yet,  to  refuse 
to  meet  him  now  would  be  as  cowardly  as  throw 
ing  the  ring  out  of  the  window. 


174 


X 

A    LADY    UNVEILED 

SHE  wakened  in  the  morning  to  some  one 
knocking.  She  thought  the  sound  had 
been  going  on  for  a  long  time,  but,  now 
she  was  finally  roused,  it  had  stopped.  This  was 
odd,  for  no  one  came  to  her  in  the  morning  ex 
cept  Marrika,  and  it  was  tiresome  to  be  thus  im 
peratively  beset  before  she  was  half  awake.  Now 
the  knocking  came  again  with  a  level,  unimpa- 
tient  repetition,  and  she  called,  "Come  in!"  at 
which  Clara,  in  a  pale  morning  gown,  promptly 
entered — an  apparition  as  cool  and  smooth  and 
burnished  as  if  she  had  spent  the  night,  like  a 
French  doll,  in  tissue  paper. 

Clara's  coming  in  in  the  morning  was  an  un 
heard-of  thing.   Flora  was  taken  aback. 

"Why,  Clara !"    She  was  blank  with  astonish- 
175 


THE     COAST    OF    CHANCE 

ment.  She  sat  up,  flushed  and  tumbled,  and  still 
blinking.  "I  hope  I  didn't  keep  you  knocking 
long." 

"Oh,  no,  indeed;  only  three  taps."  Clara 
looked  straight  through  Flora's  astonishment,  as 
if  there  had  been  no  such  thing  in  evidence.  She 
drew  up  a  chair  and  sat  down  beside  the  bed.  It 
was  a  rocking-chair,  but  it  did  not  sway  with 
her  calm  poise.  In  the  fine  finish  of  her  morn 
ing  attire,  with  her  hands  placidly  folded  on  her 
knee,  she  made  Flora  feel  taken  at  a  disadvan 
tage,  thus  scarcely  awake,  disheveled  and  all  but 
stripped.  But  Clara,  if  she  looked  at  anything 
but  Flora's  eyes,  looked  only  at  her  hands,  one 
and  then  the  other  as  they  lay  upon  the  coverlet. 

"It  isn't  so  very  late,"  she  said,  "but  I  have 
ordered  your  breakfast.  I  thought  you  would 
want  it  if  you  had  that  ten-o'clock  appointment ; 
and  there  is  something  I  want  to  ask  you  before 
you  go  out."  Flora  was  conscious  of  a  little 
apprehension.  "It's  about  that  place  you  talked 
of  taking  for  the  summer."  She  felt  vaguely  re 
lieved,  though  she  had  had  no  actual  grounds  for 
176 


A    LADY     UNVEILED 

anticipating  an  awkward  question.  "I  came 
upon  something  in  the  oddest  way  you  can  im 
agine,"  Clara  pursued  her  subject.  "Had  you 
any  idea  the  Herricks  were  in  straits  ?" 

"The  young  Herricks?" 

"Oh,  no!  The  old  Herricks,  the  Herricks, 
Mrs.  Herrick  whom  you  so  much  admire!  Of 
course,  one  isn't  told;  but  they  must  be,  to  be 
willing  to  let  the  old  place." 

"Not  the  San  Mateo  place?"  said  Flora,  with 
a  stir  of  interest.  She  felt  as  astonished  as  if 
some  Confucian  fanatic  had  set  up  his  joss  at 
auction. 

Clara  complacently  nodded. 

"Mrs.  Herrick  spoke  to  me  herself.  They 
don't  want  any  publicity  about  it,  but  she  had 
heard  that  we  were  looking,  and  she  did  me  the 
favor" — Clara  smiled  a  little  dryly — "of  telling 
me  first." 

Flora  looked  reflective.  "I've  never  seen  it, 
but  they  say  it's  beautiful." 

"It  is,  in  a  way,"  Clara  grudgingly  admitted, 
"but  it  isn't  new ;  and  the  ridiculous  part  is  that 
177 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

she  will  let  it  only  on  condition  that  it  shall  not 
be  done  over.  It  is  in  sufficiently  good  shape,  but 
it  stands  now  just  as  Colonel  Herri ck  furnished 
it  forty  years  ago." 

"Why,  I  should  love  that !"  Flora  frankly  con 
fessed,  and  gave  a  wistful  glance  at  the  walls 
around  her,  wondering  how  long  before  the  soft, 
dark  bloom  of  time,  of  use  and  wont,  should  de 
scend  on  their  crude  faces. 

"Well,"  Clara  conceded,  "at  any  rate  we 
know  it's  genuine,  and  that's  a  consolation.  The 
number  of  imitations  going  about  and  the  way 
people  pick  them  up  is  appalling !  While  I  was 
getting  that  rug  for  you  at  Vigo's  yesterday, 
Ella  Buller  came  in  and  bought  three  imitation 
Bokharas,  with  the  greatest  enthusiasm.  She 
buys  quantities,  and  she's  always  taken  in.  It 
is  enough  to  make  one  nervous  about  the  people 
one  sits  next  to  at  dinner  there.  One  can  not 
help  suspecting  them  of  being  some  of  Ella's 
bargains.  I  wonder,  now,  where  she  picked  up 
that  Kerr." 

This  finale  failed  to  take  Flora  off  her  guard. 
178 


A     LADY     UNVEILED 

"At  any  rate,  he  is  odd  enough  to  be  genuine," 
she  said  with  a  gleam  of  malice. 

"Oh,  no  doubt  of  that,"  Clara  mildly  as 
sented,  "but  genuine  what?" 

"Why,  gentleman  at  large,"  said  Flora,  and 
quickly  wanted  to  recall  it,  for  Clara's  glance 
seemed  to  give  it  a  double  significance.  "I 
mean,"  she  added,  "just  one  of  those  chronic 
travelers  who  have  nothing  else  to  do,  and  whose 
way  must  be  paved  with  letters  of  introduction" 
— she  floundered.  "At  least,  that  was  the  idea 
he  gave  of  himself."  She  broke  off,  doubly  an 
gry  that  she  had  tried  to  explain  Kerr,  and  tried 
to  explain  herself,  when  the  circumstances  re 
quired  nothing  of  the  sort.  She  was  sure  Clara 
had  not  missed  her  nervousness,  though  Clara 
made  no  sign.  Her  eyes  only  traveled  a  second 
time  to  Flora's  hands,  as  if  among  the  flare  of 
red  and  white  jewels  she  was  expecting  to  see 
another  color.  To  Flora's  palpitating  conscious 
ness  this  look  made  a  perfect  connection  with 
Clara's  next  remark. 

"At  least  his  manners  are  odd  enough !  There 
179 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

was  a  minute  last  night  when  he  was  really  quite 
startling." 

Flora  felt  a  small,  warm  spot  of  color  increas 
ing  in  the  middle  of  each  cheek.  She  drew  a  long 
breath,  as  if  to  draw  in  courage.  Then  Clara 
had  really  seen!  That  smooth,  blindish  look  of 
hers,  last  night,  had  seen  everything !  And  here 
she  was  owning  up  to  it,  and  affably  offering 
herself  as  a  confidante ;  and  for  what  reason  un 
der  the  sun  unless  to  find  out  what  it  was  that 
had  so  startled  Kerr?  Flora  felt  like  crying  out, 
"If  you  only  knew  what  that  thing  may  be,  you 
would  never  want  to  come  nearer  to  it !" 

"I  am  afraid  he  annoyed  you,  Flora." 

The  girl  looked  into  the  kindly  solicitude  of 
Clara's  face  with  a  hard,  almost  passionate  in 
credulity.  Was  that  really  all  Clara  had  sup 
posed  ? 

"These  Continentals,"  she  went  on,  now 
lightly  swaying  to  and  fro  in  her  chair,  "have 
singular  notions  of  American  women.  They  take 
us  for  savages,  my  dear." 

"Then  isn't  it  for  us  to  show  them  that  we  are 
180 


A     LADY     UNVEILED 

more  than  usually  civilized?  I  can't  run  away 
from  him  like  a  frightened  little  native." 

"Of  course  not ;  but  that  is  where  I  come  in ; 
it's  what  I'm  for — to  get  rid  of  such  things  for 
you."  That  small,  cool  smile  made  Flora  feel 
more  than  ever  the  immature  barbarian  of  her 
simile.  Clara  sat  throwing  the  protection  of  her 
superior  knowledge  and  capability  around  her, 
like  a  missionary  garment ;  but  Flora  could  have 
laughed  with  relief.  Then  Clara  merely  sup 
posed  Kerr  had  been  impertinent.  Her  little  in 
vasion  had  been  really  nothing  but  pure  kind 
ness  and  protection ;  and  Flora  couldn't  but  feel 
grateful  for  it.  Last  night  she  had  thought 
herself  so  absolutely  alone ;  and  here  was  a  friend 
coming  forward  again,  and  stepping  between 
her  and  the  thing  above  all  others  she  was  help 
less  about — the  real  world. 

Clara  had  risen,  and  stood  considering  a  mo 
ment  with  that  same  sweet,  impersonal  eye  which 
Flora  found  it  hardest  to  comprehend. 

"What  I  mean,"  she  explicitly  stated,  "is  that 
if  he  should  undertake  to  carry  out  his  prepos- 
181 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

terous  suggestion,  and  call  this  afternoon,  I  arn 
quite  ready,  if  you  wish,  to  take  him  off  your 
hands." 

This  last  took  Flora's  breath  away.  It  had 
not  occurred  to  her  that  Clara  had  overheard. 
It  shocked  her,  frightened  her;  and  yet  Clara's 
way  of  stating  the  fact,  as  if  it  were  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world,  made  Flora  feel  that 
she  herself  was  in  the  wrong  to  feel  thus.  For, 
after  all,  Clara  had  been  most  tactful,  most  con 
siderate  and  delicate  in  conveying  her  knowledge, 
not  hinting  that  Flora  could  have  been  in  the 
slightest  degree  responsible  for  Kerr's  behavior ; 
but  simply  sweetly  taking  it  for  granted  that 
they,  of  course,  were  banded  together  to  exclude 
this  outlander.  Under  her  sense  of  obligation, 
and  what  she  felt  ought  to  be  gratitude,  Flora 
floundered  for  words. 

"You're  very  kind,"  she  managed  to  get  out ; 
and  that  seemed  to  leave  her  committed  to  hand 
Kerr  over,  tied  hand  and  foot,  when  she  wasn't 
at  all  sure  she  wanted  to. 

"Then  shall  I  tell  Mrs.  Herrick  that  you  will 
182 


A     LADY     UNVEILED 

Consider  the  house?"  said  Clara,  already  in  the 
act  of  departure.  "She  is  to  call  to-day  to  go 
into  it  with  me  more  thoroughly.  Thus  far  we've 
only  played  about  the  edges." 

Her  eyes  strayed  toward  the  dressing-table 
as  she  passed  it,  and  as  she  reached  the  door  she 
glanced  over  the  chiffonier.  It  was  on  the  tip 
of  Flora's  tongue  to  ask  if  she  had  mislaid  some 
thing,  when  Clara  turned  and  smiled  her  small, 
tight-curled  smile,  as  if  she  were  offering  it  as 
a  symbol  of  mutual  understanding.  Curiously 
enough,  it  checked  Flora's  query  about  the  stray 
ing  glances,  and  made  her  wonder  that  this  was 
the  first  time  in  their  relation  that  she  had 
thought  Clara  sweet. 

But  there  was  another  quality  in  Clara  she 
did  not  lose  sight  of,  and  she  waited  for  the 
closing  of  a  door  further  down  the  hall  before 
she  drew  the  sapphire  from  under  her  pillow. 

With  the  knocking  at  the  door  her  first  act 
had  been  to  thrust  it  there.  The  feeling  that  it 
was  going  to  be  hard  to  hide  was  still  her  strong 
est  instinct  about  it;  but  the  morning  had  dis- 
183 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

sipated  the  element  of  the  supernatural  and  the 
horrid  that  it  had  shown  her  the  night  before. 
It  seemed  to  have  a  clearer  and  a  simpler  beauty ; 
and  the  hope  revived  in  her  that  its  beauty,  after 
all,  was  the  only  remarkable  thing  about  it. 

Her  conviction  of  the  night  before  had  sunk 
to  a  shadowy  hypothesis.  She  knew  nothing — 
nothing  that  would  justify  her  in  taking  any 
step ;  and  her  only  chance  of  knowing  more  lay 
in  what  she  would  get  out  of  Kerr ;  for  that  he 
knew  more  about  her  ring  than  she,  she  was 
convinced.  She  was  afraid  of  him,  yet,  in  spite 
of  her  fear,  she  had  no  intention  of  handing  him 
over  to  Clara.  For  on  reflection  she  knew  that 
Clara's  offer  must  have  a  deeper  motive  than 
mere  kindness,  and  she  had  a  most  unreasonable 
feeling  that  it  would  not  be  safe.  She  felt  a  little 
guilty  to  have  seemed  to  take  her  companion's 
help,  while  she  left  her  so  much  at  sea  as  to  the 
real  facts.  But,  after  all,  it  was  Clara  who  had 
forced  the  issue. 

She  thought  a  good  deal  about  Clara  while 
184 


A     LADY     UNVEILED 

she  was  dressing.  A  good  many  times  lately  she 
had  looked  forward  to  the  fall,  the  time  of  her 
marriage,  when  their  rather  tense  relationship 
would  be  ended.  This  house  in  the  country, 
which  was  to  be  her  last  little  bachelor  fling, 
was  to  be  Clara's  last  commission  for  her. 

Think  how  she  would,  she  could  but  feel  as 
if  she  were  ungratefully  abandoning  Clara. 
Clara  had  done  so  well  by  her  in  their  three  years 
together!  There  surely  must  be  immediately 
forthcoming  for  such  a  remarkable  person  an 
other  large  opportunity,  and  yet  she  couldn't 
help  recalling  their  first  encounter  in  the  par 
ticularly  dull  boarding-house  where  Clara  was 
temporarily  shelved;  where,  nevertheless,  she 
had  not  conceded  an  inch  of  her  class,  nor  a 
ray  of  her  luster  to  circumstance.  This  sur 
prising  luster  was  the  gloss  of  her  body,  the 
quality  of  her  clothes  and  accessories,  the  way 
she  traveled  and  the  way  she  smiled.  It  was  the 
bloom  of  luxury  she  kept  about  her  person 
through  all  her  varying  surroundings.  She  had 
185 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

never  to  rise  to  the  level  of  a  new  position ;  she 
was  there  already ;  and  she  never  came  down. 

Flora  knew  it  was  for  just  her  air  of  being 
ready  that  she  had  trusted  Clara,  and  for  the 
three  years  of  their  association  she  had  never 
failed  to  find  her  companion  ready  wherever  their 
common  interests  were  concerned.  She  had  no 
reason  for  not  trusting  Clara  now,  except  the 
knowledge  that,  by  her  own  approaching  mar 
riage,  their  interests  would  be  separated,  and 
her  feeling  that  Clara's  prudence  must  already 
be  by  way  of  looking  out  for  itself  alone. 

Yet  Clara  would  do  a  kindness  if  it  did  not 
inconvenience  her,  and  surely  this  morning  she 
had  been  kind.  Still  Flora  felt  she  didn't  want 
to  reveal  anything  until  she  was  a  little  surer  of 
her  own  position.  When  she  knew  better  where 
she  stood  she  would  know  what  she  could  confide 
to  Clara.  Meanwhile,  if  there  was  any  one  to 
whom  she  could  turn  now  it  would  surely  be 
Harry. 

Yet,  if  she  did,  what  a  lot  of  awkward  ex 
planations!  She  could  not  return  the  sapphire 
186 


A     LADY    UNVEILED 

without  giving  a  reason,  and  what  a  thing  to 
explain — that  she  had  not  only  worn  it,  but,  in 
a  freak,  shown  it  to  the  one  of  all  people  he  most 
objected  to. 

Nevertheless  the  most  sensible  thing  clearly 
was  to  go  through  with  it  and  confess  to  Harry. 
Then  she  must  communicate  with  him  at  once. 
No — she  would  wait  until  after  breakfast.  There 
was  plenty  of  time.  Kerr  would  not  come  until 
the  afternoon.  But  after  breakfast,  she  won 
dered  if  it  wouldn't  be  as  well  to  ring  him  up 
at  luncheon  time?  Then  she  would  be  sure  of 
finding  him  at  the  club. 

Meanwhile  she  dared  not  let  the  sapphire  out 
of  her  grasp ;  and  yet  she  could  not  wear  it  on 
her  hand.  She  had  thought  of  the  tear-shaped 
pouch  of  gold  which  it  was  her  custom  to  wear ; 
but  the  slender  length  of  chain  that  linked  it  to 
her  neck  was  too  frail  for  such  a  precious  weight, 
At  last  she  had  fastened  it  around  her  neck  on 
the  strongest  chain  she  owned,  and  thus  she  car 
ried  it  all  the  morning  under  her  bodice  with  a 
quieter  mind  than  had  been  hers  on  the  first  day 
187 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

she  had  worn  it,  when  there  had  been  nothing 
to  explain  her  uneasiness. 

She  was  quite  sure  she  was  going  to  give  back 
the  sapphire  to  Harry,  yet  she  couldn't  help 
picturing  to  herself  what  her  meeting  with  Kerr 
would  have  been,  supposing  she  had  decided  dif 
ferently.  As  the  morning  slipped  by  she  found 
herself  doubting  that  he  would  come  at  all.  Her 
attitude  of  the  night  before  had  surely  been 
enough  to  discourage  any  one.  Yet  if  he  didn't 
come  she  knew  that  she  would  be  disappointed. 

She  was  alone  at  luncheon,  and  in  a  dream. 
She  glanced  now  and  then  at  the  clock.  She  rose 
only  ten  minutes  before  the  hour  that  Harry  was 
in  the  habit  of  leaving  the  club.  She  went  up 
stairs  slowly  and  stopped  in  front  of  the  tele 
phone.  She  touched  the  receiver,  drew  her  hand 
back  and  turned  away.  She  shut  the  door  of 
her  own  rooms  smartly  after  her. 

She  did  not  try  to — because  she  couldn't — 
understand  her  own  proceeding.  She  merely  sat, 
listening,  as  it  seemed  to  her,  for  hours. 

But  when  at  last  Kerr's  card  was  handed  in 
188 


A     LADY     UNVEILED 

to  her,  it  gave  her  a  shock,  as  if  something 
which  couldn't  happen,  and  yet  which  she  had 
all  along  expected,  had  come  to  pass. 

In  her  instant  of  indecision  Marrika  had  got 
away  from  her,  but  she  called  the  girl  back  from 
the  door  and  told  her  to  say  to  Mrs.  Britton  that 
Mr.  Kerr  had  called,  but  that  Miss  Gilsey  would 
see  him  herself. 

She  started  with  a  rush.  Half-way  down  the 
stairs  she  stopped,  horrified  to  find  what  her 
fingers  were  doing.  They  were  closed  around  the 
little  lump  that  the  ring  made  in  the  bosom  of 
her  gown,  and  she  had  not  known  it.  What  if 
she  had  rushed  in  to  Kerr  with  this  extraordi 
nary  manifestation?  What  if,  while  she  was 
talking  to  him,  her  hand  should  continue  to  creep 
up  again  and  yet  again  to  that  place,  and  close 
around  the  jewel,  and  make  it  evident,  even  in 
its  hiding-place?  The  time  had  come  when  she 
must  even  hide  it  from  herself.  And  yet,  to  creep 
back  up  the  stair  when  she  made  sure  Kerr  must 
have  heard  her  tumultuous  downward  rush!  It 
would  never  do  to  soundlessly  retreat.  She  must 
189 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

go  back  boldly,  as  if  she  had  forgotten  nothing 
more  considerable  than  a  pocket  handkerchief. 

Yet  before  she  reached  the  top  again  she 
found  herself  going  tiptoe,  as  if  she  were  on 
an  expedition  so  secret  that  her  own  ears  should 
not  hear  her  footsteps.  But  she  went  direct  and 
unhesitating.  It  had  come  to  her  all  in  a  flash 
where  she  would  put  the  sapphire.  The  little 
buttoned  pocket  of  her  bath-robe.  There  it  hung 
in  the  bath-room  on  one  unvarying  peg,  the  most 
immovable  of  all  her  garments,  safe  from  the 
excursions  of  Marrika's  needle  or  brushes,  not 
to  be  disturbed  for  hours  to  come. 

She  passed  through  her  bedroom,  through  her 
dressing-room  into  the  bath-room.  The  robe 
was  hanging  behind  the  door.  It  took  her  a  mo 
ment  to  draw  out  the  ring  and  disentangle  its 
chain,  and  while  she  was  doing  this  she  became 
aware  of  movings  to  and  fro  in  her  bedroom. 
She  drew  the  door  half  open,  the  better  to  con 
ceal  herself  behind  it,  and  at  the  same  time, 
through  the  widened  crack  of  the  jamb,  to  keep 
an  eye  on  the  dressing-room,  and  hurried  lest 
190 


A     LADY     UNVEILED 

Marrika  should  surprise  her.  But  nevertheless 
she  had  barely  slipped  the  ring  into  the  little 
pocket  and  refastened  the  flap,  when  Clara 
opened  the  bedroom  door  and  stood  looking  into 
the  dressing-room. 

Flora  experienced  a  sharp  start  of  surprise, 
and  then  of  wonder.  Here  was  Clara  again  seek 
ing  her  out!  Here  she  stood,  brushed  and  pol 
ished,  and  finished  to  a  pitch  of  virtue,  again 
taking  Flora  at  a  disadvantage,  hiding  behind 
her  own  door.  But  at  the  least  she  was  grateful 
that  Clara  had  not  seen  her.  She  stood  a  minute 
collecting  herself.  She  wasn't  doing  anything 
she  need  be  ashamed  of,  or  that  she  need  explain, 
or  that  need  even  awaken  suspicion.  But  before 
she  could  take  her  courage  in  both  hands  and 
come  out  of  her  retreat,  Clara  had  reached  the 
middle  of  the  dressing-room,  and  stood  still. 

Her  lifted  veil  made  a  fine  mist  above  the 
luster  of  her  eyes.  She  was  perfect  to  the  tips 
of  her  immaculate  white  gloves,  and  she  wore 
the  simple,  sober  look  of  a  person  who  thinks 
himself  alone.  Then  it  wasn't  Flora,  Clara  was 
191 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

looking  for!  She  was  looking  all  around — over 
the  surface  of  every  object  in  the  room.  Pres 
ently  she  went  up  to  the  dressing-table.  She 
laid  her  gloved  hands  upon  it,  and  looked  at  the 
small  objects  strewn  over  its  top.  She  took  a 
step  backward  and  opened  the  top  drawer.  She 
reached  into  it,  and  delicately  explored. 

Flora  could  see  the  white  gloves  going  to  and 
fro  among  her  white  handkerchiefs,  could  see 
them  find,  open  and  examine  the  contents  of  her 
jewel-box.  And  the  only  thing  that  kept  her 
from  shrieking  out  was  the  feeling  that  this 
abominable  thing  which  was  being  enacted  before 
her  eyes  couldn't  be  a  fact  at  all. 

Clara  took  out  an  old  pocket-book,  shiny  with 
years,  shook  from  it  a  shower  of  receipts,  news 
paper  clippings,  verses.  She  let  them  lie.  She 
took  out  a  long  violet  box  with  a  perfumer's  seal 
upon  it.  It  held  a  bunch  of  dried  violets.  She 
took  out  a  bonbonniere  of  gold  filigree.  It  was 
empty.  A  powder  box,  a  glove  box,  a  froth  of 
lace,  a  handful  of  jewelers'  boxes,  a  jewel  flung 
loose  into  the  drawer.  This  she  pounced  upon. 


A    LADY     UNVEILED 

It  was  a  brooch!  She  let  it  fall — turned  to  the 
chiffonier;  upended  the  two  vases  of  Venetian 
glass,  lifted  the  lids  of  jars  and  boxes,  finally 
came  to  the  drawers.  One  by  one  she  took  them 
out,  turned  the  contents  of  each  rapidly  over, 
and  left  them  standing,  gaping  white  ruffles  and 
lace  upon  the  floor.  She  took  up  daintily,  in  her 
white  kid  fingers,  slippers,  shook  them  upside 
down.  She  opened  the  door  of  the  closet,  and 
disappeared  within.  There  was  audible  the  flut- 
terings  of  all  the  distressed  garments,  with  lit 
tle  busy  pauses.  Then  Clara  came  out,  with  her 
hat  a  little  crooked;  and  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  room  still  with  her  absorbed  and  sober  face, 
looking  over  the  gaping  drawers,  pulled  out  and 
rifled,  with  their  contents  heaped  up  and  stream 
ing  over  the  floor. 

Her  eye  fell  upon  the  waste  basket.  She 
turned  it  upside  down,  and  stooped  over  the  lit 
ter.  She  gathered  it  up  in  her  white  gloves  and 
dropped  it  back.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  she 
glanced  at  the  bath-room  door;  stood  looking 
at  it,  as  if  it  had  occurred  to  her  to  look  in  the 
193 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

soap  dish.  Then  she  turned  again  to  the  room, 
to  the  dressing-table.  She  put  back  the  paste 
board  jewelers'  boxes,  the  jeweled  pin,  the  laces, 
which  she  shook  out  and  folded  daintily,  the 
glove  and  powder  boxes,  the  gold  bonbonniere, 
the  long  violet  box,  the  leather  pocket-book, — 
each  deftly  and  unhesitatingly  in  the  place  from 
which  she  had  taken  it,  and  all  the  heaps  of 
white  handkerchiefs. 

One  by  one  she  laid  back  in  the  chiffonier 
drawers,  the  garments,  properly  and  neatly 
folded,  that  she  had  so  hastily  snatched  out  of 
them.  The  sun,  streaming  full  into  the  room, 
caught  gleams  in  her  pale  hair,  and  struck 
blindingly  upon  the  heaps  of  white  around  her, 
and  made  two  dazzling  points  of  her  gloved 
hands  that  moved  as  deftly  as  hands  uncovered. 
She  slid  back  the  last  drawer  into  the  chiffonier, 
and  rose  from  her  knees,  lightly  dusting  off  the 
front  of  her  gown ;  went  to  the  closet  door  and 
closed  it.  She  stood  before  it  a  moment  with  a 
face  perplexed  and  thoughtful,  then  turned 
alertly  toward  the  outer  door.  As  she  passed  the 
194 


A     LADY     UNVEILED 

mirror  she  looked  into  it,  and  touched  her  hat 
straight  again,  but  the  action  was  subconscious. 
Clara  wasn't  thinking  of  it. 

Flora  stood  as  if  she  were  afraid  to  move, 
while  Clara  crossed  her  bedroom,  stopped,  went 
on  and  closed  the  outer  door  behind  her.  And 
even  after  that  soft  little  concussion  she  stood 
still,  burning,  choking,  struggling  with  the  over 
whelming  force  of  an  affront  whose  import  she 
did  not  yet  realize.  Out  in  her  sunny  dressing- 
room  all  the  outraged  furniture  stood  meek  and 
in  order,  frauding  the  eye  to  believe  that  nothing 
had  happened !  She  felt  she  couldn't  look  things 
in  the  face  a  moment  longer.  She  hid  her  face 
in  the  folds  of  her  dressing-gown. 

Why,  she  had  thought  that  such  things 
couldn't  happen !  She  had  thought  that  people's 
private  belongings,  like  their  persons,  were  in 
violable.  They  all  always  talked,  she  had  talked, 
about  such  things  as  if  they  were  mere  nothings. 
They  had  talked  about  the  very  taking  of  the 
Crew  Idol  as  if  it  were  a  splendid  joke!  But 
she  had  not  dreamed  what  such  things  were  like 
195 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

when  they  were  near.  When  they  were  held  up 
to  you  naked  they  were  like  this !  In  the  shame 
of  it  she  could  no  more  have  faced  Clara  than 
if  she  had  surprised  Clara  naked. 

She  snatched  the  ring  out  of  the  pocket  of  her 
gown  and  clutched  it  in  her  hand.  Was  there 
no  place  in  the  world  where  she  could  be  sure 
of  safety  for  this  ? 

With  trembling  fingers  she  fastened  it  again 
to  the  chain  about  her  neck.  She  thought  of 
Kerr  down-stairs  waiting  for  her.  Well,  she 
would  rather  keep  it  with  her.  Then,  at  least, 
she  would  know  when  it  was  taken  from  her. 
Still  in  the  fury  of  her  outraged  faith,  she 
passed  through  her  violated  rooms,  and  slowly 
along  the  hall  and  down  the  stairs. 


196 


XI 

THE   MYSTERY   TAKES   HUMAN 
FORM 

HE  turned  from  the  window  where  he 
had  presented  a  long,  drooping,  pa 
tient  back,  and  his  warm,  ironic  mirth 
— the  same  that  had  played  with  her  the  first 
night — flashed  out  at  sight  of  her.    But  after 
a    moment    another   expression   mixed  with   it, 
sharpened  it,  and  fastened  upon  her  with  an  in 
credulous  intentness. 

She  stood  on  the  threshold,  pale,  and  brilliant 
still  in  her  blaze  of  anger,  equal,  at  last,  to  any 
thing.  Kerr,  as  he  signaled  to  her  with  every 
lineament  of  his  enlivened  face,  his  interest,  his 
defiance,  his  uncontrollability,  was  not  the  man 
of  her  imaginary  conversations.  He  was  not 
here  to  be  used  and  disposed  of ;  but,  as  he  came 
197 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

toward  her,  the  new  admiration  in  his  face  was 
bringing  her  reassurance  that  neither  was  she. 
The  thought  that  her  moment  of  bitter  incred 
ulity  had  made  her  formidable  gave  her  courage 
to  fight  even  him,  of  whom  she  was  so  much  in 
awe ;  gave  her  courage  even  to  smile,  though  she 
grew  hot  at  the  first  words  he  spoke. 

"You  should  not  be  brave  and  then  run  away, 
you  know." 

She  thought  of  her  rush  up  the  stairs  again. 
"I  had  to  go  back  to  see  Mrs.  Britton."  (Oh, 
how  she  had  seen  her !) 

It  seemed  to  Flora  that  everything  she  had 
been  through  in  the  last  few  moments  was  blaz 
oned  on  her  face.  But  he  only  looked  a  little 
more  gravely  at  her,  though  his  sardonic  eye 
brow  twitched. 

"Ah,  I  thought  you  only  ran  back  to  hide  in 
your  doll's  house." 

She  laughed.   Such  a  picture  of  her ! 

"Well,  at  any  rate,  now  I've  come  out,  what 
have  you  to  say  to  me?" 

"Now  you've  come  out,"  he  repeated,  and 
198 


THE    MYSTERY    TAKES     HUMAN    FORM 

looked  at  her  this  time  with  full  gravity,  as  if 
he  realized  finally  how  far  she'd  come. 

She  had  taken  the  chair  in  the  light  of  the 
eastern  windows.  She  lay  back  in  the  cushions, 
her  head  a  little  bent,  her  hands  interlaced  with 
a  perfect  imitation  of  quietude.  The  dull  satin 
of  her  slender  foot  was  the  only  motion  about 
her,  but  the  long,  slow  rise  and  fall  of  her 
breath  was  just  too  deep-drawn  for  repose. 

He  looked  down  upon  her  from  his  height. 

"I'm  sorry  I  frightened  you  last  night,"  he 
said,  "but  I'm  not  sorry  I  came,  since  you've 
seen  me.  You  needn't  have,  you  know,  if  you 
didn't  want  to.  You  could  have  stayed  in  the 
doll's  house;  and  there,  I  suppose,  you  think  I 
should  never  have  found  you — or  it  again  ?" 

He  was  silent  a  moment,  leaning  on  the  chair 
opposite,  watching  her  with  knitted  forehead, 
while  her  apprehension  fluttered  for  what  he 
should  do  next.  He  had  done  away  with  all  the 
amenities  of  meeting  and  attacked  his  point  with 
a  directness  that  took  her  breath. 

"You  know  what  I've  come  for,"  he  said,  "but 
199 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

now  I'm  here,  now  that  I  see  you,  I  wonder  if 
there's  something  I  haven't  reckoned  on."  He 
looked  at  her  earnestly.  "If  you  think  I've 
taken  advantage  of  you — if  you  say  so — I'll  go 
away,  and  give  you  a  chance  to  think  it  over." 

It  would  have  been  so  easy  to  have  nodded 
him  out,  but  instead  she  half  put  out  her  hand  to 
ward  him.  "No ;  stay." 

He  gave  her  a  quick  look — surprise  and  ap 
probation  at  her  courage.  He  dropped  into  a 
chair.  "Then  tell  me  about  it." 

Flora's  heart  went  quick  and  little.  She  held 
herself  very  still,  afraid  in  her  intense  con 
sciousness  lest  her  slightest  movement  might  be 
tray  her.  She  only  moved  her  eyes  to  look  up  at 
him  questioningly,  suspending  acknowledgment 
of  what  he  meant  until  he  should  further  com 
mit  himself. 

"I  mean  the  sapphire,"  he  said.   He  waited. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  coolly.  "I  saw  that  it 
interested  you  last  night,  but  I  couldn't  think 
especially  why.  It's  a  beautiful  stone." 

He  laughed  without  a  sound— shook  noise- 
200 


lessly  for  a  minute.  "Meaning  that  a  gentleman 
shouldn't  pounce  upon  any  beautiful  stone  he 
may  happen  to  see?"  He  got  up  and  moved 
about  restlessly  in  the  little  space  between  their 
two  chairs.  "Quite  so ;  lay  it  to  my  being  more 
than  a  gentleman ;  lay  it  to  my  being  a  crack- 
brained  enthusiast,  a  confounded  beauty  wor 
shiper,  a  vicious  curio  dealer,  an  ill-mannered 
ass !  But" — and  he  flashed  around  at  her  with 
a  snap  of  his  nervous  fingers — "where  did  you 
get  it?" 

For  the  life  of  her  she  couldn't  help  her  wave 
of  color,  but  through  it  all  she  clung  to  her 
festal  smile.  Sheer  nervousness  made  it  easy. 

"Well,  suppose  it  was  begged,  borrowed,  or — 
given  to  me?  Suppose  it  came  from  here  or  far 
away  yonder?  What's  that  to  do  with  its 
beauty?"  She  gave  him  question  for  question. 
"Did  you  ever  see  it  before  ?" 

He  never  left  off  looking  at  her,  looking  at 
her  with  a  hard  inquiry,  as  if  she  were  some 
simple  puzzle  that  he  unaccountably  failed  to 
solve. 

201 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

"That's  rather  neat,  the  way  you  dodge  me," 
he  said,  dodging  in  his  turn.  "But  I  don't  see  it 
now.  You're  not  wearing  it  ?" 

She  played  indifference  with  what  a  beating 
heart !  "Oh,  I  only  wear  it  off  and  on." 

"Off  and  on!"  His  voice  suddenly  rang  at 
her.  "Off  and  on !  Why,  my  good  woman,  it's 
just  two  days  you  could  have  worn  it  at  all!" 

She  stood  up — stood  facing  him.  For  a  mo 
ment  she  knew  nothing  except  that  her  horrible 
idea  was  a  fact.  She  had  the  eye  of  the  Crew 
Idol,  and  this  man  knew  it!  Yet  the  fact  de 
clared  gave  her  courage.  She  could  face  his 
accusal  if  only  he  could  give  the  reason  for  it. 
But  after  a  moment,  while  they  looked  silently 
at  each  other,  she  saw  he  was  not  accusing  her. 
He  was  threatening  her  and  beseeching  her  in 
dulgence  in  the  same  look.  He  opened  his  lips, 
hesitated,  turned  sharp  about  and  walked  away 
from  her. 

She  watched  him  with  increasing  doubt.  After 
saying  so  much,  was  he  going  to  say  nothing 
more  ?  She  had  a  feeling  that  she  had  not  heard 
202 


THE    MYSTERY    TAKES     HUMAN    FORM 

the  worst  yet,  and  when  he  turned  back  to  her 
from  the  other  end  of  the  room  there  was  some 
thing  so  haggard,  so  harassed,  so  fairly  guilty 
about  him  that  if  she  had  ever  thought  of  telling 
him  the  truth  of  how  she  came  by  the  ring  she 
put  it  away  from  her  now. 

But  beneath  his  distress  she  recognized  a  des 
perate  earnestness.  There  was  something  he 
wanted  at  any  cost,  but  he  was  going  to  be 
gentle  with  her.  She  had  felt  before  the  po 
tentiality  of  his  gentleness,  and  she  doubted  her 
power  to  resist  it.  She  fanned  up  all  the  flame 
of  anger  that  had  swept  her  into  the  room.  She 
reminded  herself  that  the  greatest  gentleness 
might  only  be  a  blind;  that  there  was  nothing 
stronger  than  wanting  something  very  much, 
and  that  the  protection  of  the  jewel  was  very 
thin.  But  when  he  stood  beside  her  she  realized 
he  held  a  stronger  weapon  against  her  than  his 
gentleness,  something  apart  from  his  intention. 
She  felt  that  in  whatever  circumstance,  at  what 
ever  time  she  should  meet  him  he  would  make 
her  feel  thus — hot  and  cold,  and  happy  for  the 
203 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

mere  presence  of  his  body  beside  her.  In  a  con 
fusion  she  heard  what  he  was  saying. 

He  was  speaking,  almost  coaxingly,  as  if  to 
a  child.  "I  understand,"  he  was  saying.  "I 
know  all  about  it.  It's  a  mistake.  But  surely 
you  don't  expect  to  keep  it  now.  It  will  only  be 
an  annoyance  to  you." 

She  turned  on  him.  "What  could  it  be  to 
you?" 

Kerr,  planted  before  her,  with  his  head 
dropped,  looked,  looked,  looked,  as  if  he  gave 
silence  leave  to  answer  for  him  what  it  would. 
It  answered  with  a  hundred  echoes  ringing  up 
to  her  from  long  corridors  of  conjecture,  half- 
articulated  words  breathing  of  how  extraordi 
nary  the  answer  must  be  that  he  did  not  dare  to 
make.  He  looked  her  up  and  down  carefully, 
impersonally,  with  that  air  he  had  of  regarding 
a  rare  specimen,  thoughtfully ;  as  if  he  weighed 
such  ephemeral  substance  as  chance. 

"What  will  you  take  for  it?"  he  said  at  last. 

She  was  silent.  With  a  sick  distrust  it  came 
204 


THE    MYSTERY    TAKES     HUMAN    FORM 

to  her  that  it  was  the  very  worst  thing  he 
could  have  said  after  that  speaking  silence. 

She  stepped  away  from  him.  "This  thing 
is  not  for  sale." 

He  stared  at  her  with  amazement ;  then  threw 
back  his  head  and  laughed  as  if  something  had 
amused  him  above  all  tragedy. 

"You  are  an  extraordinary  creature,"  he  said, 
"but  really  I  must  have  it.  I  can't  explain  the 
why  of  it ;  only  give  the  sapphire  to  me,  and 
you'll  never  be  sorry  for  having  done  that  for 
me.  Whatever  happens,  you  may  be  sure  I  won't 
talk.  Even  if  the  thing  comes  out,  you  shan't 
be  mixed  up  in  it."  He  had  come  near  her  again, 
and  the  point  of  his  long  forefinger  rested  on  her 
arm.  She  was  motionless,  overwhelmed  with 
pure  terror,  with  despair.  He  was  smiling,  but 
there  was  a  desperate  something  about  him, 
stronger  than  the  common  desire  of  possession, 
terrifying  in  its  intensity.  She  looked  behind 
her.  The  thick  glass  of  the  window  was  there,  a 
glimpse  of  the  empty  street  and  the  figure  of  a 
205 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

woman  in  a  blowing  green  veil  turning  the  cor 
ner. 

"Why  not  give  it  to  me  now,"  he  urged, 
"since,  of  course,  you  can't  keep  it?  I  could 
have  it  now  in  spite  of  you." 

Everything  in  her  sprang  up  in  antagonism 
to  meet  him.  "I  know  what  you  are,"  she  cried, 
"but  you  shan't  have  it.  You  have  no  more 
right  to  it  than  I.  You  can't  get  it  away  from 
me,  and  I  shan't  give  it  to  you." 

He  had  grown  suddenly  paler;  his  eyes  were 
dancing,  fastened  upon  her  breast.  His  long 
hands  closed  and  opened.  She  looked  down,  ar 
rested  at  the  sight  of  her  hand  clenched  just 
where  her  breath  was  shortest,  over  the  sap 
phire's  hiding-place. 

He  smiled.  How  easily  she  had  betrayed 
herself!  But  she  abated  not  a  jot  of  her  de 
fiance,  challenging  him,  now  he  knew  its  hiding- 
place,  to  take  the  sapphire  if  he  could.  But  he 
did  not  move.  And  it  came  to  her  then  that  she 
had  been  ridiculous  to  think  for  an  instant  that 
this  man  would  take  anything  from  her  by 
206 


THE    MYSTERY    TAKES     HUMAN    FORM 

force.  What  she  had  to  fear  was  his  will  at 
work  upon  hers,  his  persuasion,  his  ingenuity. 
She  thought  of  the  purple  irises,  and  how  he  had 
drawn  them  toward  him  in  the  crook  of  his 
cane — and  her  dread  was  lest  he  meant  to  over 
come  her  with  some  subtlety  she  could  not  com 
bat.  For  that  he  was  secret,  that  he  was  daring, 
that  he  was  fearless  beyond  belief,  he  showed 
her  all  too  plainly,  since  here  he  stood,  con 
demned  by  his  own  evidence,  alone,  in  the  midst 
of  her  household,  within  call  of  her  servants,  and 
had  the  sublime  effrontery  to  look  at  her  with 
admiration,  and,  it  occurred  to  her,  even  with  a 
little  pity. 

The  click  of  a  moving  latch  brought  his 
eyes  from  hers  to  the  door. 

"Some  one  is  coming  in,"  he  said  in  a  guarded 
voice.  It  warned  her  that  her  face  showed  too 
much,  but  she  could  not  hope  to  recover  her  com 
posure.  She  hardly  wanted  to.  She  was  in  a 
state  to  fancy  that  a  secret  could  be  kept  by 
main  force;  and  she  turned  without  abatement 
of  her  reckless  mood  and  took  her  hand  from 
207 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

where  she  had  held  it  clenched  upon  her  breast 
and  stretched  it  out  to  Mrs.  Herrick. 

The  lady  had  stood  in  the  doorway  a  mo 
ment — a  long-featured,  whitish,  modeled  face, 
draped  in  a  dull  green  veil,  a  tall  figure  whose 
flowing  skirts  of  black  melted  away  into  the 
background  of  the  hall — before  she  came  for 
ward  and  met  her  hostess'  hand  with  a  clasp 
firm  and  ready. 

"I'm  so  glad  to  find  you  here,"  she  said.  She 
looked  directly  into  Flora's  eyes,  into  the  very 
center  of  her  agitation.  She  held  her  tremulous 
hand  as  if  neither  of  these  manifestations  sur 
prised  her;  as  if  a  young  woman  and  a  young 
man  in  colloquy  might  often  be  found  in  such 
a  state  of  mind. 

Flora's  first  emotion  was  a  guilty  relief  that, 
after  all,  her  face  had  not  betrayed  Kerr.  But 
she  had  no  sooner  murmured  his  name  to  Mrs. 
Herrick,  no  sooner  had  that  lady's  gray  eyes 
lighted  upon  him,  than  they  altered  their  clear 
confidence.  The  situation  as  reflected  in  Flora 
looked  naive  enough,  but  there  was  nothing 
208 


THE    MYSTERY    TAKES     HUMAN    FORM 

nai've  about  Kerr.  The  very  perfection  of  his 
coolness,  there  in  the  face  of  her  burning  agita 
tion,  was  appalling.  Oh,  why  couldn't  he  see, 
Flora  thought  wildly,  how  it  was  damning  him 
— how  it  was  showing  him  so  practised,  so  mar- 
velously  equal  to  any  emergency,  that  his  pres 
ence  here  among  fleeces  could  be  nothing  less 
than  wolfish? 

Mrs.  Herrick's  face  was  taking  on  an  ex 
pression  no  less  than  wary.  What  he  was,  Mrs. 
Herrick  could  not  dream.  She  could  not  even 
suspect  what  Flora  believed.  But  in  the  light 
of  her  terrible  discovery  Flora  dared  not  have 
him  suspected  at  all.  The  chasms  of  distrust 
and  suspicion  that  had  been  opening  between 
them  she  forgot.  In  a  flash  she  was  ready  to 
throw  herself  in  front  of  this  man,  to  cover 
him  from  suspicion,  even  though  by  so  doing 
she  took  it  upon  herself. 

Now,  if  she  had  ever  in  her  life,  she  talked 

over  the  top  of  her   feelings;  and  though  at 

first  to  her  ears  her  voice  rang  out  horribly 

alone,  presently  Mrs.  Herrick  was  helping  her, 

209 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

adding  words  to  words.  It  was  the  house  they 
spoke  of,  the  San  Mateo  house,  the  subject 
about  which  Flora  knew  Mrs.  Herrick  had  come 
to  talk;  but  to  Flora  it  was  no  longer  a  sub 
ject.  It  was  a  barrier,  a  shield.  In  this  emer 
gency  it  was  the  only  subject  large  enough  to 
fill  the  gap,  and  much  as  Flora  had  liked  the 
idea  of  it,  she  had  never  built  the  house  so 
large,  so  vivid,  so  wonderfully  towering  to 
please  her  fancy  as  she  was  doing  now  to  cover 
Kerr.  With  questions  she  led  Mrs.  Herrick  on 
to  spin  out  the  subject,  to  play  it  over  with 
lights  and  shades,  to  beat  all  around  it.  And 
all  the  while  she  knew  that  Kerr  was  watching 
her;  watching  her  once  again  in  dubious  ad 
miration.  It  was  a  look  that  made  Mrs.  Herrick 
seem  ready  at  a  v  movement  of  his  to  lay  her 
hand  on  Flora  in  protection. 

The  lady's  clear  gray  eyes  traveled  between 
Flora's  face  and  his.  Under  their  steady  light 
there  was  a  strange  alertness,  as  if  she  sat  there 
ready  enough  to  avert  whatever  threatened,  but 
anxious  to  draw  her  skirts  aside  from  it,  dis- 
210 


THE    MYSTERY    TAKES     HUMAN    FORM 

trusting  the  quality,  hating  to  have  come  in 
upon  anything  so  dubious.  When  the  hall  door 
opened  and  closed  she  listened  as  if  for  a  de 
liverer;  and  when  Clara  appeared  between  the 
portieres  she  turned  to  her  and  met  her  with  a 
flash  of  relief,  as  if  here  at  last  was  a  safe 
quantity.  Clara  was  still  wearing  her  hat,  with 
the  veil  pushed  up  in  a  little  mist  above  her 
eyes,  and  still  had  her  white  gloves  on.  The 
sight  of  Mrs.  Herrick's  hand  soliciting  the 
clasp  of  those  gave  Flora  a  curious  sensation. 

She  looked  from  one  face  to  another,  and  last 
at  Kerr's.  She  shut  her  eyes  an  instant.  Here 
was  a  thief.  He  was  standing  in  her  drawing- 
room  now.  She  had  been  talking  with  him.  She 
opened  her  eyes.  The  fact  acknowledged  had 
not  altered  the  color  of  daylight.  It  was  strange 
that  things — furniture  and  walls  and  land 
scape — should  remain  so  stolidly  the  same 
when  such  a  thing  had  happened  to  her!  For 
she  had  not  only  spoken  with  a  thief,  but  she 
had  shielded  him.  It  struck  her  grotesquely 
that  perhaps  Mrs.  Herrick's  instinct  was  right, 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

after  all.  Wasn't  Clara  the  safest  of  the  lot? 
Clara  at  least  kept  her  gloves  on,  while  she  her 
self  was  shamelessly  arrayed  on  the  side  of  disor 
der.  She  was  clinging  to  a  piece  of  property 
that  wasn't  hers,  and  whatever  way  she  dressed 
her  motives  they  looked  too  much  of  a  piece  with 
the  operations  of  the  original  miscreant. 

Flora  saw  the  evil  spirit  of  tragic-comedy. 
He  fairly  grinned  at  her. 


$12 


XII 

DISENCHANTMENT 

THEN  this  was  the  end  of  all  romance? 
She  must  turn  her  back  on  the 
charm,  the  power,  the  spell  that  had 
been  wrought  around  her,  and,  horror-struck, 
pry  into  her  own  mind  to  discover  what  lawless 
thing  could  be  in  her  to  have  drawn  her  to 
such  a  person,  and  to  keep  her,  even  now  that 
she  knew  the  worst,  unwilling  to  relinquish  the 
thought  of  him.  His  depravity  loomed  to  her 
enormous;  but  was  that  all  there  was  to  be 
said  of  him?  Did  his  delicacy,  his  insight,  his 
tempered  fineness,  count  for  nothing  beside  it? 
Must  their  talks,  their  walking  through  the 
trees,  the  very  memory  of  his  voice,  be  lost  in 
spiration  ? 

She  couldn't  believe  that  this  one  spot  could 
213 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

make  him  rotten  throughout.  Her  mind  ran 
back  into  the  past.  She  could  not  recall  a  word, 
an  action,  or  a  glance  of  his  that  had  shown 
the  color  of  decay.  He  had  not  even  been  in 
sincere  with  her.  He  had  come  out  with  his 
convictions  so  flatly  that  when  she  thought  of 
it  his  nonchalance  appalled  her.  He  had  been 
the  same  then  that  he  was  now.  But  the  thing 
that  was  natural  for  him  was  impossible  for 
her,  and  she  had  found  it  out — that  was  all. 

Yet  the  mere  consideration  of  him  and  his 
obsession  as  one  thing  was  intolerable.  She 
curiously  separated  his  act  from  himself. 
She  thought  of  it,  not  as  a  part  of  him,  but 
as  something  that  had  invaded  him — a  disease 
— something  inimical  to  himself  and  others, 
that  mixed  the  thought  of  him  with  terrors,  and 
filled  her  way  with  difficulties.  Now  it  was  no 
longer  a  question  of  how  to  meet  him,  but  of 
how  she  was  not  to.  It  was  not  his  strength 
she  feared,  but  her  own  weakness  where  he  was 
concerned.  Her  tendency  to  shield  him — she 
must  guard  against  that — and  that  disturbing 


DISENCHANTMENT 

influence  he  exercised  over  her,  too  evidently 
without  intention.  But  he  would  be  hard  to 
avoid.  This  way  and  that  she  looked  for  a 
way  out  of  her  danger,  yet  all  the  while  she 
was  conscious  that  there  was  but  one  plain  way 
of  escape  open  to  her.  She  could  give  the  sap 
phire  back  to  Harry  within  the  twenty-four 
hours. 


215 


XIII 

THRUST   AND   PARRY 

MY  DEAR  FLORA — I  am  going  out  early  and  shall  not 
be  back  to  dinner.  CLARA. 

FLORA  let  the  little  note  fall  as  if  she 
disliked  the  touch  of  it.     She  was  re 
lieved  to  think  she  would  not  have  to 
see  Clara  that  day.     It  was  her  desire  never  to 
see  Clara  again.     If  only  they  could  part  here 
and  now!     How  she  wanted  to  shake  the  whole 
thing  off  her  shoulders !     How  foolish  not  to 
have  gone  to  Harry  when  she  had  first  made 
up   her   mind  to!     For   why,   after  all,   make 
him    any    explanations?     Suppose    she    should 
just  take  the  ring  to  him  and  say:  "It  gives 
me  the  shivers,  Harry.     Let's  take  it  back  and 
get  something  else."     If  he  didn't  suspect  the 
sapphire   already,   he   would   never    suspect   it 
216 


THRUST     AND     PARRY 

from  that.  The  worst  he  could  do  would  be 
to  laugh,  to  tease,  to  tell  her  she  could  not  live 
up  to  her  own  romantic  notions,  since,  after  all, 
she  had  weakened  and  was  wanting  the  usual 
thing. 

But  there  had  been  times  when  she  had 
thought  that  he  did  suspect  the  sapphire.  Well, 
if  he  did,  giving  it  back  to  him  would  practi 
cally  be  giving  it  back  into  public  custody  in 
the  most  decorous  manner  for  a  properly  bred 
young  woman.  And  how  beautifully  it  would 
extricate  her  from  her  wretched  situation! 
Logically,  there  was  no  fault  to  be  found  with 
such  a  course.  It  was  eminently  sane  and  safe. 
Yet  it  still  appeared  to  her  as  if  she  were  acting 
a  coward's  part.  She  was  neither  frankly  giv 
ing  the  jewel  to  the  authorities  with  the  proper 
information,  nor  frankly  handing  it  over  to 
Kerr.  But  she  was  trying  to  slip  it  back  into 
the  questionable  nook  from  which  it  had  been 
taken,  and  she  grew  hot  at  the  thought  of  how 
Kerr  would  despise  her  if  he  knew  the  craven 
course  she  was  meditating.  She  seemed  to  hear 
217 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

him  saying,  "I  had  thought  braver  things  of 
you." 

Of  course,  that  was  his  way  of  expecting  that 
she  would  give  him  the  ring.  And  she  felt  a 
sort  of  rage  against  him  that  he  should  want 
that,  and  only  that,  so  very  much.  Yet  she 
didn't  know  what  else  she  wanted  him  to  want. 
Every  time  she  thought  of  Kerr  she  found  her 
self  growing  unreasonable ;  and  she  had  to  whip 
up  her  resolution  with  the  hard  facts  of  the  case 
to  prevent  herself  from  drifting  over  on  to  his 
side  completely. 

But  did  she  really  want  Harry  to  rid  her  of 
the  ring?  She  would  get  hold  of  him  first  and 
then  she  would  see  what  she  would  do. 

She  stepped  into  the  hall  with  all  the  confi 
dence  of  one  who  has  fully  made  up  her  mind 
to  carry  matters  with  a  high  hand;  but  at  the 
telephone  she  hesitated.  Calling  him  up  at 
such  an  hour  of  the  morning  demanding  his 
attendance  on  such  a  fanciful  errand — wouldn't 
he  think  it  odd  ?  No,  he  would  think  it  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world  for  her  to  be  so 
218 


THRUST     AND     PARRY 

flighty.  Reassured,  she  gave  the  club  number 
and  stood  waiting,  listening  to  the  half-syllables 
of  switched-off  voices  and  the  crossing  click, 
click,  that  was  bringing  her  fate  nearer  to  her. 
She  heard  some  one  coming  up  the  stairs  and 
down  the  hall  toward  her.  Marrika  stood  stolid 
at  her  elbow. 

"Mr.  Cressy,"  she  pronounced. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Flora,  with  the  club  clam 
oring  in  her  left  ear. 

"He  is  down-stairs,"  said  Marrika. 

Flora  nearly  let  the  receiver  fall.  Harry 
here?  What  a  piece  of  luck!  But  here  on  his 
own  account,  at  such  an  hour — how  extraor 
dinary  ! 

"Hello,  hello,"  persisted  the  club.  "What's 
wanted?" 

"Why,  I — "  Flora  stammered.  "It's  a  mis 
take;  never  mind.  I  don't  want  him  now." 
She  hoped  that  Harry  had  not  heard  her  as  he 
came  in,  since  it  was  his  informal  fashion  to 
await  her  in  the  large  entrance  hall.  She  didn't 
want  to  spoil  the  chance  he  had  given  her  of 
219 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

seeming  offhand  about  the  ring.  But  the  hall 
was  empty,  and  as  she  descended  the  stairs  she 
amused  herself  with  the  fancy  that  Shima  had 
had  a  vision,  and  that  she  would  still  have  to 
ring  up  the  club  and  explain  to  the  attendant 
that,  after  all,  she  wanted  Mr.  Cressy. 

Then  from  the  drawing-room  threshold  she 
caught  sight  of  Harry  standing  in  the  big  bay 
window  of  the  drawing-room,  in  the  same  spot 
where  Kerr  had  awaited  her  the  afternoon  be 
fore.  Harry  was  tall  and  large  and  freshly 
colored,  and  yet  he  did  not  fill  the  room  to  her 
as  the  other  man  had  done.  He  met  her,  kissed 
her,  and  she  turned  her  head  so  that  his  lips 
met  her  cheek  close  beside  her  ear.  She  did  not 
positively  object  to  his  kissing  her  on  the  lips, 
but  her  instinct  was  strong  to  offer  him  her 
cheek.  He  had  sometimes  laughed  at  this,  but 
now  he  resented  it.  He  insisted  on  his  privilege, 
and  she  was  passive  to  him,  conscious  of  less 
love  in  this  than  assertion  of  possession. 

"You  are  not  going  to  Burlingame,  are  you  ?" 
she  asked  him  with  her  first  breath. 
220 


THRUST     AND     PARRY 

He  looked  down  at  her  with  a  flushed  and 
sulky  air.  "What  difference  would  that  make 
to  you?  I  am,  as  it  happens,  but  I  suppose 
you  think  that's  no  reason  for  disturbing  you 
so  early."  He  was  angry,  but  at  what,  she 
wondered,  with  creeping  uneasiness.  He  held 
her  and  caressed  her  with  a  morose  satisfaction, 
as  if  he  had  to  make  sure  to  himself  that  she  was 
really  his,  and  she  permitted  it  and  abetted  it 
with  a  guile  that  astonished  her. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  urged.  "Are 
things  going  crookedly  at  Burlingame?" 

"Things  are  going  as  crooked  as  you  please, 
but  not  at  Burlingame.  Sit  over  there,"  he  said, 
nodding  toward  the  window-bench;  "I  want  to 
talk  to  you." 

Harry  had  the  air  of  one  about  to  scold,  and 
certainly  Flora  thought  if  anybody  was  carry 
ing  matters  with  a  high  hand,  it  wasn't  herself ; 
but  she  didn't  follow  his  direction.  She  con 
tinued  to  stand,  while  he,  sitting  on  the  table's 
edge,  drumming  the  top  of  his  hat,  gloomily 
regarded  her. 

221 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

"Well?"  she  persisted,  troubled  by  this  look 
of  his,  and  this  silence. 

"Look  here,"  he  began,  "I  have  to  be  away 
a  couple  of  days  and  I  wish  you'd  do  me  a 
favor." 

Flora's  thought  flew  to  the  ring.  Was  he 
going  to  ask  for  it  back,  to  have  it  reset,  as  he 
had  promised  on  the  threshold  of  the  goldsmith's 
shop  ?  Here  might  be  the  chance  she  had  hoped 
for  of  getting  rid  of  it.  She  grasped  at  it 
before  she  had  time  to  waver. 

"I  wonder  if  it's  the  very  favor  I  was  going 
to  ask  of  you." 

But  he  didn't  take  it  up.  He  seemed  hardly 
to  hear  her,  as  if  his  mind  was  too  much  ab 
sorbed  with  quite  another  question — a  question 
that  the  next  moment  came  out  flat.  "What  was 
that  Kerr  doing  here  yesterday?" 

She  was  taken  aback,  so  far  had  her  appre 
hension  of  Harry's  jealousy  slipped  into  the 
background  in  the  last  twenty-four  hours.  But 
her  consciousness  that  Harry  was  not  behaving 


THRUST     AND     PARRY 

well,  even  for  a  jealous  man,  made  her  take  it 
up  all  the  more  lightly. 

"Why,  he  was  calling,  chatting,  taking  tea 
— what  anybody  else  would  do  from  four  to 
six.  What  in  the  world  gave  you  the  idea  that 
he  was  doing  anything  extraordinary?" 

"Well,"  he  said,  "you  shouldn't  do  the  sort 
of  thing  that  makes  you  talked  about." 

"'That  makes  me  talked  about'?"  It  made 
her  pause  in  front  of  him. 

"Why,  yes,  it  isn't  like  you.  It's  never  hap 
pened  before.  Look  here.  I  drop  into  the  Bullers' 
yesterday;  find  Clara  sidled  up  to  the  judge; 
look  around  for  you.  'Hello,'  I  say,  'where's 
Flora?'  'Oh,'  says  she,  'Flora's  at  home  amusing 
Mr.  Kerr.'  'Amusing  Mr.  Kerr !' "  he  repeated. 
"That's  a  nice  thing  to  hear." 

Flora  went  red.  She  walked  down  the  room 
from  him  to  give  her  suddenly  tumultuous 
heart  time.  However  little  he  might  guess 
the  real  trend  of  her  interview  with  Kerr,  she 
couldn't  hear  him  come  near  it  without  appre- 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

hension.  She  was  angry,  helplessly  angry  at 
Harry  that  he  had  taken  this  moment  for  his 
stupid  jealousy.  But  she  was  more  angry  at 
Clara,  since  such  a  speech  on  Clara's  part 
wasn't  carelessness.  She  had  meant  it  to  work 
upon  him,  and  here  he  stood,  like  the  fine  ani 
mal  that  he  was,  smoldering  with  the  suspicion 
of  encroachment  on  his  prey. 

She  tried  to  laugh  him  out  of  it. 

"Why,  Harry,  I  never  saw  you  jealous  be 
fore!" 

"It's  all  very  well  to  say  that — and  you  know 
I've  never  made  a  row  about  the  other  John 
nies.  I  knew  you  didn't  care  for  any  of  them." 

Her  eyes  narrowed  and  darkened. 

"And  you  take  it  for  granted  I  care  for  Mr. 
Kerr?" 

"Oh,  no,  no!"  He  pushed  his  hand  through 
his  hair  with  an  irascible  gesture.  "But  it's 
plain  enough  you  like  him — you  women  always 
like  a  fellow  that  flourishes — but  that's  not  the 
sort  of  man  I  care  to  see  hanging  around  my 
girl." 


THRUST     AND     PARRY 

Flora  stood  loaning  on  the  table,  breathing 
a  little  hurriedly,  feeling  rather  as  if  she  had 
been  shaken.  Harry,  standing  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  looked  not  unlike  the  threatening 
image  he  had  appeared  in  the  back  of  the  gold 
smith's  shop. 

"Of  course,  the  fellow  can  talk,"  he  admitted, 
"and  he  has  a  manner.  But  Lord  knows  where 
he  comes  from  or  who  he  is.  Why,  even  the 
Bullers  don't  know." 

Flora  turned  sharply  on  him.  "Who  told  you 
that?" 

"The  judge.    He  picked  him  up  at  the  club." 

"Well,"  she  kept  it  up,  "some  one  had  to 
introduce  him  there." 

Harry  smiled.  "You  wouldn't  care  to  bow  to 
some  of  those  club  members." 

"Harry,  do  you  know  how  you  sound  to  me?" 
She  was  trembling  at  the  daring  of  what  she 
was  going  to  say.  "You  talk  as  if  you  knew 
something  against  him." 

Pier  statement  seemed  to  bring  him  up  short. 
"No,  no,  I  don't,"  he  said  hastily. 
225 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE     ' 

She  made  a  little  gesture  of  despair.  How 
was  she  to  count  on  Harry  if  he  was  going  to 
behave  like  this?  How  trust  him  when  he  was 
shuffling  so? 

She  made  one  more  bold  stroke  to  make  him 
speak  out. 

"Harry,  you  do  know  something  about  him! 
I  know  you  have  seen  him  before." 

"Why,  yes,  I've  seen  him  before.  But  that's 
got  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

He  looked  surprised  that  she  should  seem  to 
accuse  him  of  it,  and  she  wondered  if  he  could 
have  forgotten  how  he  had  denied  it  before. 

"And  that  isn't  why  you  distrust  him?" 

The  devil's  tattoo  that  he  beat  on  his  hat 
stopped. 

"I  don't  distrust  him." 

"Well,  dislike  him,  then.  When  was  it  that 
you  saw  him  before?" 

"Isn't  it  enough  for  me  to  tell  you  that  I 
don't  want  you  to  see  him?" 

"Oh!"  She  turned  away  from  him.  Every 
nerve  in  her  was  in  revolt.  Then  he  really 
226 


THRUST     AND     PARRY 

wasn't  going  to  tell  her  anything.  He  was 
keeping  her  out  of  it  as  if  she  were  a  child. 
She  had  relied  on  him  to  return  the  ring.  She 
had  counted  upon  his  indifference  and  good  na 
ture.  And  he  was  neither  indifferent  nor  good- 
natured.  All  desire  of  even  mentioning  the  ring 
to  him  left  her;  and  as  to  giving  him  her  con 
fidence —  These  hints  that  he  had  thrown  out 
about  Kerr — they  might  be  mere  jealousy — but 
he  might  have  actual  knowledge,  knowledge 
that,  with  her  own  fitted  to  it,  would  make  for 
him  a  complete  figure.  She  caught  her  breath 
at  the  thought  of  how  near  she  had  come  to 
actually  betraying  Kerr.  Until  that  moment 
she  had  not  realized  that  through  all  her  waver 
ings  her  one  fixed  intention  had  been  not  to  be 
tray  him. 

Harry  had  risen  and  was  buttoning  his  over 
coat.  "You  know  you're  never  at  home  if  you 
don't  want  to  be,"  he  said. 

She  stood  misleadingly  drooping  before  him. 
But  though  her  appearance  was  passive  enough 
for  the  most  exacting  lover  her  will  had  never 
227 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

been  in  more  vigorous  revolt.  She  knew  Harry 
was  taking  her  weariness  for  acquiescence,  and 
she  let  him  take  it  so.  She  even  followed  him 
into  the  hall,  and  with  a  vague  idea  of  further 
propitiation,  nodded  away  Shima  and  opened 
the  door  for  him  herself. 

The  fog  was  a  chasm  of  white  outside. 
Harry  turned  on  the  brink  of  it.  "By  the  way, 
where's  Clara?" 

"Why,  do  you  want  to  see  her?  She'll  be 
out  all  day.  She's  dining  with  the  Willie  Her- 
ricks." 

"No,  I  don't  want  to  see  her,  but,  by  the  way, 
she's  not  dining  with  the  Willie  Herricks;  she's 
dining  with  the  Bullers.  I  heard  her  make  the 
engagement  yesterday." 

"Oh,  no,  Harry,  I'm  sure  you're  mistaken." 

"Well,  it  doesn't  matter.  All  I  want  to  know 
is,  why  did  you  show  that  ring  to  Clara  before 
it  was  set?" 

She  was  genuinely  aghast.  "I  didn't,"  she 
flashed.  "What  made  you  think  I  had?" 

He  shrugged.  "Well,  she  asked  me  where 
228 


THRUST     AND     PARRY 

we  got  it.  I  don't  see  why  women  always  talk 
those  things  over."  He  was  looking  at  her  in 
quiringly. 

"Well,  I  haven't,"  she  said  quickly.  "Have 
you?" 

He  looked  out  upon  the  fog.  "Told  her 
where  we  got  it,  do  you  mean?  No,  I  just 
chaffed  her.  I'd  look  out,  if  I  were  you.  She 
strikes  me  as  damned  curious."  He  stood  a 
moment  on  the  threshold,  looking  from  Flora  to 
the  chasm  of  fog  outside,  as  if  he  were  choosing 
between  two  chances.  "I  think  I'll  take  that 
ring  this  morning,"  he  said  slowly. 

The  deliberate  words  came  to  her  with  a 
shock.  But  in  the  moment,  while  she  looked  into 
Harry's  moody  face,  she  realized  how  impos 
sible  to  make  a  scene  over  what  must  still  be 
maintained  as  a  trivial  matter  betwixt  them — 
the  mere  resetting  of  a  jewel;  what  should  she 
do  to  put  him  off?  She  looked  up  at  him,  and 
saw  with  relief  that  his  face  was  turned  from 
her  to  the  fog,  as  if  he  had  forgotten  her.  Then, 
still  with  averted  head,  as  if  he  addressed  the 
229 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

whiteness,  or  himself, — "No,"  he  determined,  "I 
won't.  I'll  take  it  when  I  come  back."  He 
pulled  himself  together  with  an  effort,  with  a 
smile.  "That  is,"  he  turned  to  her,  "if  you're 
in  no  great  hurry  about  the  setting?  Very 
well,  then.  In  a  day  or  two." 

He  plunged  away  into  the  fog.  A  few  rods 
from  the  door  he  disappeared,  but  she  could  still 
hear  his  footsteps  growing  thinner,  lighter, 
passing  away  in  the  whiteness. 


£80 


XIV 

COMEDY  CONVEYS  A  WARNING 

SHE  stood  where  he  had  left  her  in  the 
open  doorway,  with  the  damp  eddy  of 
the  fog  blowing  on  her.  She  had  had  a 
narrow  escape ;  but  after  the  first  fullness  of  her 
relief  there  returned  upon  her  again  the  weight 
of  her  responsibility.  There  was  no  slipping 
out  of  it  now,  and  it  was  going  to  be  worse 
than  she  had  imagined.  So  much  had  come  out 
in  the  last  half-hour  that  she  felt  bewildered 
by  it.  What  Harry  had  let  slip  about  Clara 
alarmed  her.  What  in  the  world  was  Clara 
about?  With  one  well-aimed  observation  she 
had  stirred  up  Harry  against  Kerr  and  against 
Flora  herself.  And  meanwhile  she  was  running 
after  the  Bullers.  Twice  in  two  days,  if  Harry 
was  not  mistaken,  and  she  was  even  nearing  an 
other  engagement. 

231 


THE     COAST    OF    CHANCE 

After  all  her  fruitless  mousings,  Clara  had  too 
evidently  got  on  the  scent  of  something  at  last. 
How  much  she  knew  or  guessed  as  yet,  Flora 
could  not  be  sure,  but  certainly,  now,  she 
couldn't  let  Clara  go.  For  that  would  be  turn 
ing  adrift  a  dangerous  person  with  a  stronger 
motive  than  ever  for  pursuing  her  quest,  and  the 
opportunity  for  pursuing  it  unobserved,  out  of 
Flora's  sight.  Clara  was  at  it  even  now,  and  the 
only  consolation  Flora  had  was  that  Harry,  at 
least,  would  not  play  into  her  hands. 

For  Harry  had  a  special  secret  interest  of  his 
own.  The  last  ten  minutes  of  their  interview  had 
made  that  plain.  His  manner,  when  he  had  de 
clared  his  intention  of  taking  the  ring,  had  been 
anything  but  the  manner  of  a  care-free  lover 
merely  concerned  with  pleasing  his  lady.  Then 
they  were  all  of  them  racing  each  other  for  the 
same  thing — the  thing  she  held  in  her  possession  ; 
and  whether  she  feared  most  to  be  felled  by  a 
blow  from  Harry,  or  hunted  far  afield  by  Kerr, 
or  trapped  by  Clara,  she  could  not  tell.  She 
stood  hesitating,  looking  out  into  the  obscurity 
232 


COMEDY  CONVEYS  A  WARNING 

of  the  fog,  as  if  she  hoped  to  read  the  answer 
there.  Presently  she  returned  to  the  fact  that 
Shima  was  waiting  to  close  the  door.  Half-way 
across  the  hall  she  paused  again,  looking 
thoughtfully  down  the  rose-colored  vista  of  the 
drawing-room,  and  up  at  the  broad  black  march 
of  the  stair.  Vague  mysteries  peered  at  her 
from  every  side.  Which  should  she  flee  from? 
Which  walk  boldly  up  to  and  dispel? 

She  went  up-stairs  slowly.  She  stood  in  her 
dressing-room  absently  before  the  mirror.  She 
touched  the  hard,  unyielding  stone  of  the  ring 
under  the  thin  bodice  of  her  gown.  She  recalled 
the  morning  when  she  had  gone  to  get  it,  before 
anything  had  happened  and  the  lure  of  life  had 
been  so  exquisite.  Now  that  it  had  come  near — 
if  this  indeed  were  life  that  she  was  laboring  in 
— it  was  steep  and  crabbed,  like  the  brown  hills 
in  summer,  far  off,  like  velvet,  to  climb,  plowed 
ground  and  stubble. 

And  yet  she  didn't  wish  herself  back,  but 
only  forward.  Now  she-  had  no  leisure  to 
imagine,  to  pretend,  to  enjoy,  only  the  breath- 
233 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

less  sense  that  she  must  get  forward.  The  chat 
tering  clock  on  her  mantel  warned  her  of  the 
passing  time  and  set  her  hurrying  into  her  walk 
ing-gown,  her  hat,  her  gloves,  as  if  the  object 
of  her  errand  would  only  wait  for  her  a  moment 
longer.  When,  for  the  second  time,  she  opened 
the  house  door,  she  didn't  hesitate.  She  descend 
ed  into  the  white  fog  that  covered  all  the  city. 

Above  her  the  stone  fa9ade  of  her  house 
loomed  huge  and  pinkish  in  the  mist.  Her  spirits 
rose  with  the  feeling  that  she  was  going  adven 
turing  again,  leaving  that  house  where  for  the 
last  two  days  she  had  awaited  events  with  such 
vivid  apprehensions.  She  hurried  fast  down 
the  damp,  glistening  pavement,  seeing  long, 
dim  gray  faces  of  houses  glimmer  by,  seeing 
figures  come  toward  her  through  the  fog,  grow 
vivid,  pass,  and  hearing  at  intervals  the  hoarse, 
lonely  voice  of  the  fog-horn  at  "The  Heads" 
reaching  her  over  many  intervening  hills.  She 
did  not  feel  sure  what  she  should  do  at  the  end 
of  her  journey  or  what  awaited  her  there.  She 
knew  herself  a  most  unpractised  hunter,  she, 


COMEDY  CONVEYS  A  WARNING 

who,  all  her  life,  had  been  the  most  artful  of 
quarries.  A  quarry  she  was  still,  but  in  this 
chase  she  had  to  come  out  and  stalk  the  facts 
in  order  to  see  which  way  to  run;  if,  she  told 
herself  in  her  exhilaration,  she  decided  to  run 
at  all. 

She  turned  in  at  the  low  gate  of  imitation 
grill  in  front  of  an  enormous  wooden  mansion, 
with  towers  and  cupolas  painted  all  a  chill  slate 
gray,  with  fuchsias,  purple  and  red,  clambering 
up  the  front.  She  rang,  and  was  admitted  into 
a  hall,  ornate  and  very  high,  with  a  wide  stair 
case  sweeping  down  into  the  middle  of  it. 

The  maid  looked  dubiously  at  Flora  and 
thought  Miss  Buller  was  not  at  home,  but 
would  see.  Flora  turned  into  the  room  on  her 
left  and  sat  down  among  the  Louis  Quinze 
sofas  and  potted  palms  with  a  feeling  that  Miss 
Buller  was  at  home,  and,  for  one  reason  or  an 
other,  preferred  not  to  be  seen.  She  waited  ap 
prehensively,  wondering  whether  Ella  was  not 
seeing  the  world-in-general,  or  had  really 
specified  against  herself.  Could  it  be  that  Ella 
235 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

was  one  of  those  women  whom  Harry  had  al 
luded  to  as  running  after  Kerr?  In  the  short 
twenty-four  hours  every  individual  help  she  had 
counted  upon  had  seemed  to  draw  away  from 
her — Kerr,  whose  understanding  she  had  been  so 
sure  of ;  Clara,  whose  propriety  had  never  failed ; 
Harry,  whose  comfortable  good  nature  she  had 
so  taken  for  granted!  It  seemed  as  if  the  sap 
phire,  whose  presence  she  was  never  unconscious 
of,  for  all  she  wore  it  out  of  sight,  had  a  power 
like  the  evil  eye  over  these  people.  But  if  it  could 
turn  such  as  Ella  against  her,  why,  the  Brussels 
carpet  beneath  her  might  well  open  and  let  her 
down  to  deeper  abysses  than  Judge  Buller's  wine- 
cellar. 

She  started  nervously  at  the  step  of  the  maid 
returning.  The  message  brought  was  unex 
pected.  "Miss  Buller  says  will  you  please  walk 
up-stairs  ?" 

Flora  was   amazed.      That  invitation    would 

have  been  odd  enough  at  any  time,  for  she  and 

Ella  were  hardly  on  such  intimate  footing.     But 

now  she  was  ushered  up  the  majestic  stair,  and 

236 


COMEDY     CONVEYS     A     WARNING 

from  the  majestic  upper  hall  abruptly  into  a 
wild  little  cluttered  sewing-room,  and  thence  into 
a  wilder  but  more  spacious  bedroom,  large  cur 
tains  at  the  windows,  large  roses  on  the  carpet, 
and  over  all  objects  in  the  room  a  clutter  of  mis 
cellaneous  articles,  as  if  Ella's  band-boxes, 
bureaus,  and  work-baskets  habitually  refused  to 
contain  themselves. 

From  the  midst  of  this  Ella  confronted  her, 
still  in  her  "wrapper"  and  with  the  large  puff  of 
her  hair  a  little  awry.  Under  it  her  face  was 
curiously  pink,  a  color  deepening  to  the  tip  of 
her  nose  and  puffing  out  under  her  eyes. 

"Well,  Flora,"  she  greeted  her  guest.  "You 
were  just  the  person  I  wanted  to  see.  Sit  down. 
No,  not  there — that's  my  bird  of  paradise 
feather !  Oh,  no,  not  there — that's  the  break 
fast.  Well,  I  guess  you'll  have  to  sit  on  the 
bed." 

Flora  swept  aside  the  clothes  that  streamed 

across  it  and  throned  herself  on  the  edge  of  the 

high,  white  plateau  of  Ella's  four-poster.  Ella, 

for  all  her  eager  greeting,    looked     upon     her 

237 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

friend  doubtfully,  and  Flora  recognized  in  her 
self  a  similar  hesitation,  as  if  each  were  trying 
to  make  out,  without  asking,  what  thoughts 
the  other  harbored. 

"I  was  afraid  I  shouldn't  see  you  at  all," 
Flora  began  at  last. 

"Well,  you  wouldn't  if  it  hadn't  happened  to 
be  you,"  said  Ella  paradoxically.  "Look  at 
me ;  did  you  ever  see  such  a  sight  ?" 

"You  don't  look  very  well,"  Flora  cautiously 
admitted.  "Why,  Ella,  you've  been  crying !" 

"Yes,  I've  been  crying,"  said  Ella,  mopping 
her  nose,  which  still  showed  a  tendency  to  distil 
a  tear  at  its  tip.  "And  it's  perfectly  awful  to 
me  to  think  you've  been  living  so  long  in  the 
same  house  with  her." 

Flora  murmured  breathlessly,  "What  in  the 
world  do  you  mean?" 

"If  you  don't  know,  I  certainly  ought  to  tell 
you.  I  mean  Clara,"  said  Ella  distinctly. 

Flora,  sitting  up  on  the  edge  of  the  high 
bed  with  the  tips  of  her  little  shoes  hardly 
touching  the  floor,  looked  at  Ella  fascinated, 
238 


COMEDY     CONVEYS     A     WARNING 

her  lips  a  little  apart.  Ella  had  so  exactly  pro 
nounced  her  own  secret  thought  of  Clara.  She 
was  breathless  to  know  what  had  been  Clara's 
performance  at  the  Bullers'. 

"Of  course  I've  always  known  she  was  like 
that,"  said  Ella,  leaning  back  in  her  chair  with 
an  air  of  resignation.  "She's  always  getting 
something.  It's  awful.  It  was  the  same  even 
when  we  were  at  boarding-school.  I  suppose 
she  never  did  have  enough  money,  though  her 
people  were  awfully  nice;  but  she  worked  us  all 
for  invitations  and  rides  in  our  carriages,  and 
I  remember  she  got  lots  through  Lillie  Lewis' 
elder  brother,  and  he  thought  she  was  going  to 
marry  him,  but  she  didn't.  She  married  Lulu 
Britton's  father;  and  I  guess  she  worked  him 
until  he  went  under  and  they  found  there  really 
was  no  money.  So  she's  been  living  on  people 
ever  since."  Ella  rocked  gloomily. 

"But  she  does  it  so  nicely,"  Flora  suggested. 
She  still  had  the  feeling  that  it  was  not  decent 
to  own  up  to  these  most  secret  facts  of  people's 
failings. 

239 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

"Oh,  yes,  she's  a  perfect  wonder,"  Ella  ad 
mitted  grudgingly;  "look  at  what  she's  done 
for  you!"  Ella's  gesticulation  was  eloquent 
of  how  much  that  had  been.  "But  don't  you 
imagine  she  cares  about  you  any  more  than  she 
cares  about  me!"  Ella  began  to  cry  again. 
"You  were  an  awfully  good  thing  for  her, 
Flora,  and  now  that  you're  going  to  be  married 
she's  got  to  have  something  else.  But  I  do 
think  she  might  have  taken  somebody  besides 
papa." 

Flora  gasped.  "  'Taken !'  Ella,  what  do  you 
mean  ?" 

"I  mean  married,"  said  Ella. 

"  'Married !'  "  For  the  time  Flora  had  be 
come  a  helpless  echo. 

"Oh,  not  yet,"  Ella  defiantly  nodded.  "Not 
while  there's  anything  left  of  me." 

Flora  stammered.  "Oh,  Ella,  no.  Oh,  Ella, 
are  you  sure?"  She  felt  a  hysterical  impulse 
to  giggle. 

"Sure?"  Miss  Buller  cried.  "I  should  think 
240 


COMEDY  CONVEYS  A  WARNING 

so!  Why,  she's  simply  making  a  dead  set  for 
him." 

This  denouement,  this  climax  to  her  somber 
expectations,  struck  Flora  as  something  wildly 
and  indecently  ridiculous.  "Why,  but  it's  im 
possible  !"  she  protested,  and  began  helplessly  to 
laugh. 

"Well,  I'd  like  to  know  why?"  Ella  snapped. 
"I'm  sure  papa  is  twice  as  rich  as  old  Britton 
was,  and  twice  as  easy."  She  went  off  into  sobs 
behind  her  handkerchief. 

"Oh,  don't,  Ella,  don't  cry!"  Flora  begged, 
petting  the  large  expanse  of  heaving  shoulders. 
"I  didn't  mean  anything.  I  was  just  silly.  Of 
course  it  may  be  that  she  wants  to  marry  him. 
But  she  never  has  before — at  least,  I  mean,  I 
don't  believe  she  wants  to  now.  What  makes 
you  think  she  does?  What  has  she  done?" 

"Well,"  Ella  burst  out,  "why  is  she  coming 
here  all  the  time,  when  she  never  used  to,  and 
petting  papa?  Why  does  she  bother  to  be  so 
agreeable  to  me  when  she  never  was  before? 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

Why  does  she  make  me  ask  her  to  dinner,  when 
I  don't  want  to?" 

Each  question  knocked  on  Flora's  brain  to 
the  accompaniment  of  Ella's  furious  rocking. 
She  could  not  answer  them,  and  Ella's  explana 
tion,  absurd  as  it  seemed,  coming  on  top  of  her 
high  expectations,  wasn't  impossible.  It  was 
like  Clara  to  have  more  than  one  iron  in  the 
fire;  but  when  Flora  remembered  the  passionate 
intentness  with  which  Clara  had  demolished  the 
order  of  her  room,  she  couldn't  believe  that 
Clara  would  pause  in  the  midst  of  such  pur 
suit  to  pounce  on  Judge  Buller. 

"Oh,  Ella,"  Flora  sympathetically  urged,  "I 
don't  believe  there's  really  any  danger.  And  sure 
ly,  even  if  she  meant  it,  Judge  Buller  wouldn't 
be—" 

"Oh,  yes,  he  would,"  Ella  cut  her  short. 
"Why,  when  she  came  yesterday  he  was  just 
going  out,  and  she  went  for  him  and  made  him 
stop  to  tea.  Think  of  it — papa  stopping  to  tea ! 
And  he  was  as  pleased  as  Punch  to  have  her 
make  up  to  him.  He  hasn't  the  least  idea  of 
242 


COMEDY     CONVEYS     A     WARNING 

what  she's  after.  Papa  isn't  used  to  ladies. 
He's  always  just  lived  with  me." 

This  astonishing  statement  looking  at  Flora 
through  Ella's  unsuspecting  eyes  had  neverthe 
less  a  pathos  of  its  own.  It  conjured  up  a  long 
vista  of  harmonious  existence  which  the  two,  the 
daughter  and  the  father,  had  made  out  of  their 
mutual  simplicity,  and  their  mutual  gusto  for 
the  material  comforts  which  came  comfortably. 

"But  I'll  tell  you  one  thing,"  Ella  ended,  still 
rocking  vigorously ;  "if  she  comes  here  to-night 
to  dinner  when  she  knows  I  don't  want  her  I 
shall  tell  her  what  I  think  of  her,  before  she 
leaves  this  house !  See  if  I  don't." 

"Don't  do  that,  Ella,"  Flora  entreated, 
"that  would  be  awful."  She  was  certain  that 
such  an  interview  would  only  end  in  Clara's 
making  Ella  more  ridiculous  than  she  was  al 
ready.  "Let  me  speak  to  her.  I  don't  mind  at 
all,"  she  declared  bravely,  and  in  a  manner  truly, 
though  she  was  fully  aware  that  speaking  to 
Clara  would  be  anything  but  a  treat. 

"Oh,  would  you?"  said  Ella  eagerly.  "I 
243 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

really  would  be  awfully  obliged.  I  hated  to 
ask  you,  Flora,  but  I  thought  perhaps  you 
might  be  able  to — to,  well,  perhaps  be  able  to 
do  something,"  she  ended  vaguely.  "Do  you 
think  you  could?" 

"I'll  speak  to  Clara  to-night,"  said  Flora 
heroically,  "or  to-morrow,"  she  added;  "I'm 
afraid  I  won't  see  her  to-night." 

"Well,  I'll  let  you  know  if  it  makes  any  dif 
ference,"  said  Ella  hopefully. 

Flora  knew  that  nothing  either  of  them  could 
say  would  make  any  difference  to  Clara,  or  turn 
her  from  the  thing  she  was  pursuing;  but  by 
speaking  she  might  at  least  find  out  if  Judge 
Buller  himself  were  really  her  object.  And 
Ella's  wail  of  assured  calamity,  "Papa  has  al 
ways  been  so  happy  with  me,"  touched  her  with 
its  absurd  pathos. 

She  kissed  Ella's  misty  cheek  at  parting.  It 
wasn't  fair,  she  thought  remorsefully,  for  peo 
ple  like  the  Bullers  to  be  at  large  on  the  same 
planet  with  people  like  Clara — and  herself — 
and — and  like —  Her  thoughts  ran  off  into  the 
244 


COMEDY  CONVEYS  A  WARNING 

fog.     At  least,  thank  heaven,  it  was  the  judge 
Clara  was  trailing  and  not  Kerr. 

The  bells  and  whistles  of  one  o'clock  were 
making  clangor  as  she  ran  up  the  steps  of  her 
house  again.  In  the  hall  Sliirna  presented  her 
with  a  card.  She  looked  at  it  with  a  quickening 
pulse.  "Is  he  waiting?" 

"No,  madam.  Mr.  Kerr  has  gone.  He  waited 
half  an  hour." 

Down  went  her  spirits  again.  Yet  surely 
after  their  last  interview  she  ought  not  to  be 
eager  to  meet  him  again.  "In  the  morning," 
she  thought,  "and  waited  half  an  hour.  How 
he  must  have  wanted  to  see  me!"  She  didn't 
know  whether  she  liked  that  or  not.  "When 
did  he  come?" 

"At  eleven  o'clock." 

At  this  she  was  frightened;  he  had  missed 
Harry  by  less  than  half  an  hour. 

"He  waited  all  that  time  alone?" 

"No.     Mr.  Cressy  came." 

Flora  felt  a  cold  thrill  in  her  nerves.     Then 
Harry  had  come  back !    What  had  h«  come  for? 
Ml 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

"He  also  would  wait,"  the  Japanese  ex 
plained. 

Flora  gasped.    "They  waited  together !" 

The  Japanese  shook  his  head.  "They  went 
away  together." 

She  didn't  believe  her  ears.  "Mr.  Kerr  went 
away  with  Mr.  Cressy?" 

The  Japanese  seemed  to  revolve  the  problem 
of  mastery.  "No,  Mr.  Cressy  accompanied  Mr. 
Kerr."  He  had  made  a  delicate  oriental  dis 
tinction.  It  put  the  whole  thing  before  her  in 
a  moment.  Harry  had  been  the  resistant,  and 
the  other  with  his  brilliant  initiative  attacking1, 
always  attacking  when  he  should  have  been  hid 
ing,  had  carried  him  off.  "What  had  he  done, 
and  how  had  he  managed,  when  Harry  must 
have  had  such  pressing  reasons  for  wanting  to 
stay?"  Ah,  she  knew  only  too  well  Kerr's  ex 
quisite  knowledge  of  managing;  but  why  must 
he  make  such  a  reckless  exposure  of  himself? 
Did  he  suppose  Harry  was  to  be  managed? 
Had  he  no  idea  where  Harry  stood  in  this  af 
fair?  In  pity's  name,  didn't  he  know  that 
246 


COMEDY     COJSTVEYS     A     WARNING 

Harry  had  seen  him  before — had  seen  him  un 
der  circumstances  of  which  Plarry  wouldn't 
talk?  They  were  circumstances  of  which  she 
knew  nothing,  and  yet  from  that  very  fact  there 
was  left  a  horrible  impression  in  her  mind  that 
they  had  been  of  a  questionable  character. 


24.7 


XV 

A   LADY   IN    DISTRESS 

HE  had  returned,  ready  for  pitched  bat 
tle  with  Clara,  and  on  the  threshold 
there  had  met  her  the  very  turn  in  the 
affair  that  she  had  dreaded  all  along — the  set 
ting  of  Kerr  and  Harry  upon  each  other. 

These  were  two  whom  she  had  kept  apart  even 
in  her  mind — the  man  to  whom  she  was  pledged, 
with  whom  she  had  supposed  herself  in  love, 
and  the  man  for  whom  she  was  flying  in  the 
face  of  all  her  traditions.  She  had  not  scru 
tinized  the  reason  of  her  extraordinary  behavior ; 
not  since  that  dreadful  day  when  the  vanishing 
mystery  had  taken  positive  form  in  him  had  she 
dared  to  think  how  she  felt  about  Kerr.  She 
had  only  acted,  acted;  only  asked  herself  what 
to  do  next,  and  never  why ;  only  taken  his  cause 
248 


A     LADY     IN     DISTRESS 

upon  herself  and  made  it  her  own,  as  if  that  was 
her  natural  right.  She  could  hardly  believe  that 
it  was  she  who  had  let  herself  go  to  this  extent. 
All  her  life  she  had  been  docile  to  public  opinion, 
buxom  to  conventions,  respectful  of  those  legal 
and  moral  rules  laid  down  by  some  rigid  material 
spirit  lurking  in  mankind.  But  now  when  the 
moment  had  come,  when  the  responsibility  had 
descended  upon  her,  she  found  that  these  things 
had  in  no  way  persuaded  her.  They  were  not 
vital  enough  for  her  proposition.  They  had  no 
meaning  now — no  more  than  proper  parlor  fur 
niture  for  a  castaway  on  a  desert  island. 

Then  this  was  herself,  a  creature  too  much 
concerned  with  the  primal  harmonies  of  life  to 
be  impressed  by  the  modulations  her  decade  set 
upon  them.  This  was  that  self  which  she  had 
obscurely  cherished  as  no  more  real  than  a 
fairy;  but  at  Kerr's  acclamation  it  had  pro 
claimed  itself  more  real  than  flesh  and  blood, 
and  Kerr  himself  the  most  real  thing  in  all  her 
life. 

Then  what  was  Harry  ?  The  bland  implacable 
249 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

pronouncement  of  Shima  had  summoned  him 
up  to  stand  beside  Kerr  more  clearly  than  her 
own  eyes  could  have  shown  him.  Surely  she  was 
giving  to  Kerr  what  belonged  to  Harry,  or 
else  she  had  already  given  to  Harry  what 
ought  to  have  been  Kerr's.  That  was  her  last 
conclusion.  It  was  horrible,  it  was  hopeless,  but 
it  was  not  untrue.  It  had  crept  upon  her  so 
softly  that  it  had  taken  her  unawares.  She 
was  appalled  at  the  unreason  of  passion.  Un 
sought  by  him,  unclaimed,  in  every  common 
sense  a  stranger  to  him — how  could  she  belong 
to  him?  And  yet  of  that  she  was  sure  by  the 
way  he  had  unveiled  her  the  first  night,  by  the 
way  he  had  quickened  her  dreaming  into  life. 
As  many  times  as  she  had  fancied  what  love 
was  like  she  had  never  dreamed  it  could  be  like 
this.  It  was  mockery  that  she  could  be  con 
cerned  for  one  who  only  wanted  of  her — plun 
der.  Yet  it  was  so.  She  was  as  tremblingly 
concerned  for  his  fate  as  if  she  owned  his  whole 
devotion ;  and  his  fate  at  this  moment,  she  was 
convinced,  was  in  Harry's  hands. 
250 


A     LADY     IN     DISTRESS 

Kerr,  with  his  brilliant  initiative,  might  carry 
him  off,  but  Kerr  was  still  the  quarry.  For  had 
not  Harry,  from  the  very  beginning,  known 
something  about  him?  Hadn't  he  at  first  denied 
having  seen  him  before,  and  then  admitted  it? 
Hadn't  he  dropped  hints  and  innuendoes  without 
ever  an  explanation?  She  remembered  the  sin 
gular  fact  of  the  Embassy  ball,  twice  mentioned, 
each  time  with  that  singular  name  of  Farrell 
Wand.  And  to  know — if  that  was  what  Harry 
knew — that  a  man  of  such  fame  was  in  a  com 
munity  where  a  ring  of  such  fame  had  disap 
peared — what  further  proof  was  wanted  ? 

Then  why  didn't  Harry  speak?  And  what 
was  going  on  on  his  side  of  the  affair?  Harry's 
side  would  have  been  her  side  a  few  days  be 
fore.  Now,  unaccountably,  it  was  not.  Nor 
was  Kerr's  side  hers  either.  She  was  standing 
between  the  two — standing  hesitating  between 
her  love  of  one  and  her  loyalty  to  the  other  and 
what  he  represented.  The  power  might  be  hers 
to  tip  the  scales  Harry  held,  either  to  Kerr's 
undoing,  or  to  his  protection.  At  least  she 
251 


THE     COAST    OF    CHANCE 

thought  she  might  protect  him,  if  she  could 
discover  Harry's  secret.  Her  special,  author 
ized  relation  to  him — her  right  to  see  him  often, 
question  him  freely — even  cajole — should  make 
that  easy.  But  she  shrank  from  what  seemed 
like  betrayal,  even  though  she  did  not  betray  him 
to  Kerr  by  name. 

Then,  on  the  other  hand,  she  doubted  how 
much  she  could  do  with  Harry.  She  wasn't 
sure  how  far  she  was  prepared  to  try  him  after 
that  scene  of  theirs.  She  had  no  desire  to  pique 
him  further  by  seeing  too  much  of  Kerr.  On 
her  own  account  she  wanted  for  the  present  to 
avoid  Kerr.  He  roused  a  feeling  in  her  that  she 
feared — a  feeling  intoxicating  to  the  senses, 
dazzling  to  the  mind,  unknitting  to  the  will. 
How  could  she  tell,  if  they  were  left  alone  to 
gether  for  a  long  enough  space  of  time,  that 
she  might  not  take  the  jewel  from  her  neck,  at 
his  request,  and  hand  it  to  him — and  damn  them 
both?  If  only  she  could  escape  seeing  him  al 
together  until  she  could  find  out  what  Harry 
was  doing,  and  what  she  must  do ! 
252 


A     LADY     IN     DISTRESS 

Meanwhile,  there  was  her  promise  to  Ella. 
She  recalled  it  with  difficulty.  It  seemed  a 
vague  thing  in  the  light  of  her  latest  discov 
ery,  though  she  could  never  meet  Clara  in  dis 
agreement  without  a  qualm.  But  she  made  the 
plunge  that  evening,  before  Clara  left  for  the 
Bullers',  while  she  was  at  her  dressing-table  in 
the  half-disarray  which  brings  out  all  the  soft 
ness  and  the  disarming  physical  charm  of 
women.  From  her  low  chair  Flora  spoke  laugh 
ingly  of  Ella's  perturbation.  Clara  paused,  with 
the  powder  puff  in  her  hand,  while  she  listened  to 
Flora's  explanation  of  how  Ella  feared  that  some 
one  might,  after  all  these  years,  be  going  to 
marry  Judge  Buller.  Who  this  might  be  she  did 
not  even  hint  at.  She  left  it  ever  so  sketchy. 
But  the  little  stare  with  which  Clara  met  it,  the 
amusement,  the  surprise,  and  then  the  shortest 
possible  little  laugh,  were  guarantee  that  Clara 
had  seen  it  all.  She  had  filled  out  Flora's  sketch 
to  the  full  outline,  and  pronounced  it,  as  Flora 
had,  an  absurdity.  But  though  Clara  had 
laughed  she  had  gone  away  with  her  delicate 
253 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

brows  a  little  drawn  together,  as  if  she'd  really 
found  more  than  a  laugh,  something  worth  con 
sidering,  in  Ella's  state  of  mind. 

Flora  was  left  with  the  uneasy  feeling  that 
perhaps  she  had  unwittingly  delivered  Ella  into 
Clara's  hands ;  that  Ella,  too,  was  in  danger  of 
becoming  part  of  Clara's  schemes.  Danger 
seemed  to  be  spreading  like  contagion.  It  was 
borne  in  upon  her  that  from  this  time  forward 
dangers  would  multiply.  That  nothing  was 
going  to  be  easier,  but  everything  infinitely 
harder,  to  the  end ;  and  now  was  the  time  to  act 
if  ever  she  hoped  to  make  way  through  the 
tangle. 

She  heard  the  wheels  of  Clara's  departing 
conveyance.  Now  was  her  chance  for  an  in 
terview  with  Harry.  She  spent  twenty  minutes 
putting  together  three  sentences  that  would 
not  arouse  his  suspicions.  She  made  two 
copies,  and  sent  them  by  separate  messengers, 
one  to  his  rooms,  one  to  the  club,  with  orders 
they  be  brought  back  if  he  was  not  there  to 
receive  them.  Then — the  miserable  business  of 
254 


A     LADY     IN     DISTRESS 

waiting  in  the  large  house  full  of  echoes  and 
the  round  ghostly  globes  of  electric  lights,  with 
that  thing  around  her  neck  for  which — did  they 
but  know  of  it — half  the  town  would  break  in 
her  windows  and  doors. 

The  wind  traveled  the  streets  without,  and 
shook  the  window-casings.  She  cowered  over 
the  library  fire,  listening.  The  leaping  flames 
set  her  shadow  dancing  like  a  goblin.  A  bell 
rang,  and  the  shadow  and  the  flame  gave  a 
higher  leap  as  if  in  welcome  of  what  had  ar 
rived.  She  went  to  the  library  door.  In  the 
glooms  and  lights  outside  Shima  was  standing, 
and  two  messengers.  It  was  odd  that  both 
should  arrive  at  once.  She  stepped  back  and 
stood  waiting  with  a  quicker  pulse.  Shima  en 
tered  with  two  letters  upon  his  tray.  She  had 
a  moment's  anxiety  lest  both  her  notes  had  been 
brought  back  to  her,  but  no — the  envelope 
which  lay  on  top  showed  Harry's  writing.  She 
tore  it  open  hastily.  Harry  wrote  that  he  would 
be  delighted,  and  might  he  bring  a  friend  with 
him;  a  bully  fellow  whom  he  wanted  her  to 
255 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

meet?  He  added  she  might  send  over  for  some 
girl  and  they  could  have  a  jolly  little  party. 

Flora  looked  at  this  communication  blankly. 
Was  Harry,  who  had  always  jumped  at  the 
chance  of  a  tete-a-tete,  dodging  her?  In  her 
astonishment  she  let  the  other  envelope  fall. 
She  stooped,  and  then  for  a  moment  remained 
thus,  bent  above  it.  The  superscription  was  not 
hers.  The  note  was  not  addressed  to  Harry,  but 
to  her,  and  in  a  handwriting  she  had  never  seen 
before ! 

Again  the  peal  of  the  electric  bell.  Shima  ap 
peared  with  a  third  envelope.  This  time  it  was 
her  own  note  returned  to  her.  With  the  feeling 
she  was  bewitched  she  took  up  the  mysterious 
letter  from  the  floor  and  opened  it.  She  read 
the  strange  handwriting: 

May  I  see  you,  anywhere,  at  any  time,  to-night? 

ROBERT  KERR. 

It  was  as   if  Kerr  himself  had  entered  the 
room,  masked  and  muffled  beyond  recognition, 
and  then,  face  to  face  with  her,  let  fall  his  dis 
guise.     She  gazed  at  the  words,  at  the  signa- 
256 


A     LADY     IN     DISTRESS 

ture,  thrilled  and  frightened.  She  looked  at 
Harry's  note,  hesitated;  caught  a  glimpse  be 
tween  the  half-open  doors  of  the  two  messen 
gers  waiting  stolidly  in  the  hall.  Waiting  for 
answers !  Answers  to  such  communications ! 
She  made  a  dash  for  the  table  where  were  pens 
and  ink  and  on  one  sheet  scrawled : 

"Certainly.  Bring  him,"  appending  her  ini 
tials  ;  on  the  other  the  word  "Impossible,"  and 
her  full  name.  Then  she  hurried  the  letters  into 
Shima's  hands,  lest  her  courage  should  fail  her 
— lest  she  should  regret  her  choice. 

"Anywhere,  at  any  time,  to-night,"  she  re 
peated  softly.  Why,  the  man  must  be  mad! 
Yet  she  permitted  herself  a  moment  of  imagin 
ing  what  might  have  been  if  her  answers  had 
been  reversed. 

But  no,  she  dared  not  meet  Kerr's  impetuous 
attacks  yet.  First  she  must  get  at  Harry.  And 
how  was  that  to  be  managed  if  he  insisted  on 
surrounding  himself  with  "a  jolly  little  party?" 

She  found  a  moment  that  evening  in  which  to 
ask  him  to  walk  out  to  the  Presidio  with  her 
257 


THE     COAST    OF    CHANCE 

the  next  morning.  But  he  was  going  to  Bur- 
lingame  on  the  early  train.  He  was  woefully 
sorry.  It  was  ages  since  he  had  had  a  moment 
with  her  alone,  but  at  least  he  would  see  her  that 
evening.  She  had  not  forgotten?  They  were 
going  to  that  dinner — and  then  the  reception 
afterward?  Her  suspicion  that  he  was  delib 
erately  dodging  wavered  before  his  boyish, 
cheerful,  unconscious  face.  And  yet,  following 
on  the  heels  of  his  tendency  to  question  and 
coerce  her,  this  reticence  was  amazing.  The 
next  day  would  be  lost  with  Harry  beyond  reach 
— twelve  hours  while  Kerr  was  at  the  mercy  of 
chance,  and  she  was  at  the  mercy  of  Kerr. 

His  tactics  did  not  leave  her  breathing  space. 
She  felt  as  the  lilies  wavering  just  beyond  his 
reach.  She  remembered  his  ingenuity.  She 
thought  of  the  blows  of  his  cane.  Lucky  for 
her  she  was  not  rooted  like  the  lilies !  The  only 
safety  was  in  keeping  beyond  his  reach. 

Yet  when  his  card  was  brought  up  to  her  the 
next  morning  she  looked  at  the  printed  name 
as  wistfully  as  if  it  had  been  his  face.  It  cost 
258 


A     LADY     IN     DISTRESS 

an  effort  to  send  down  the  cold  fiction  that  she 
was  not  at  home,  and  she  could  not  deny  her 
self  the  consolation  of  leaning  on  the  baluster 
of  the  second  landing,  and  listening  for  his  step 
in  the  hall  below.  But  there  was  no  movement. 
Could  it  be  possible  he  was  waiting  for  her  to 
come  in?  Hush!  That  was  the  drawing-room 
door.  But  instead  of  Kerr,  Shima  emerged. 
He  was  heading  for  the  stair  with  his  little  sil 
ver  tray  and  upon  it — a  note.  Oh,  impudence ! 
How  dared  he  give  her  the  lie,  by  the  hand  of 
her  own  butler!  She  stood  her  ground,  and 
Shima  delivered  the  missive  as  if  it  were  most 
usual  to  find  one's  mistress  beflounced  in  pei 
gnoir  and  petticoats,  hanging  breathless  over  the 
baluster. 

"Take  that  back,"  she  said  coldly,  "and  tell 
him  that  I  am  out ;  and,  Shima," — she  addressed 
the  man's  intelligence — "make  him  understand 
it." 

She  watched  the  note  departing.  How  she 
longed  to  call  Shima  back  and  open  it!  There 
was  a  pause — then  Kerr  emerged  from  the 
259 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

drawing-room.  As  he  crossed  the  hall  he  glanced 
up  at  the  stair  and  as  much  as  was  visible  of 
the  landing.  He  hadn't  taken  Shima's  word  for 
it,  after  all ! 

The  vestibule  door  closed  noiselessly  after  him, 
the  outer  door  shut  with  a  heavy  sound.  Yet  be 
fore  that  sound  had  ceased  to  vibrate,  she  heard 
it  shut  again.  Was  he  coming  back?  There 
was  a  presence  in  the  vestibule  very  vaguely  seen 
through  the  glass  and  lace  of  the  inner  door. 
Her  heart  beat  with  apprehension.  The  door 
opened  upon  Clara. 

Flora  precipitately  retreated.  She  was  more 
disturbed  than  relieved  by  the  unexpected  ap 
pearance.  For  Clara  must  have  seen  Kerr  leave 
the  house.  Three  times  now  within  three  days 
he  had  been  found  with  her  or  waiting  for  her. 
She  wondered  if  Clara  would  ask  her  awkward 
questions.  But  Clara,  when  she  entered  Flora's 
dressing-room  a  few  moments  later  with  the 
shopping-list,  instead  of  a  question,  offered  a 
statement. 

"I  don't  like  that  man,"  she  announced. 
260 


A     LADY     IN     DISTRESS 

"Who?" 

"That  Kerr.  I  met  him  just  now  on  the 
steps.  Don't  you  feel  there  is  something  wrong 
about  him?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Flora  vaguely. 

Clara  gave  her  a  bright  glance. 

"But  you  weren't  at  home  to  him." 

"I'm  not  at  home  to  any  one  this  morning," 
Flora  answered  evasively,  feeling  the  probe  of 
Clara's  eyes.  "I'm  feeling  ill.  I'm  not  going 
out  this  evening  either.  I  think  I'll  ring  up 
Burlingame  and  tell  Harry."  It  was  in  her 
mind  that  she  might  manage  to  make  him  stay 
with  her  while  Clara  went  on  to  the  reception. 

"Burlingame!  Harry!"  Clara  echoed  in  sur 
prise.  "Why,  he's  in  town.  I  saw  him  just 
now  as  I  was  coming  up." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Yes.  He  was  walking  up  Clay  from 
Kearney.  I  was  in  the  car." 

"Why  that — that  is — "  Flora  stammered  in 
her  surprise.  "Then  something  must  have  kept 
him,"  she  altered  her  sentence  quickly.  But 
261 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

though  this  seemed  the  probable  explanation 
she  did  not  believe  it.  Harry  walking  toward 
Chinatown,  when  he  had  told  her  distinctly  he 
would  be  in  Burlingame!  She  thought  of  the 
goldsmith  shop  and  there  returned  to  her  the 
memory  of  how  Harry  and  the  blue-eyed  China 
man  had  looked  when  she  had  turned  from  the 
window  and  seen  them  standing  together  in  the 
back  of  the  shop. 

"You  do  look  ill,"  Clara  remarked.  "Why 
don't  you  stay  in  bed,  and  not  try  to  see  any 
one?" 

Flora  murmured  that  that  was  her  intention, 
but  she  was  far  from  speaking  the  truth.  She 
only  waited  to  make  sure  of  Clara's  being  in 
her  own  rooms  to  get  out  of  the  house  and  tele 
phone  to  Harry. 

It  was  not  far  to  the  nearest  booth,  a  block 
or  two  down  the  cross-street.  She  rang,  first, 
the  office.  The  word  came  back  promptly  in 
his  partner's  voice.  He  had  gone  to  Burlin 
game  by  the  early  train.  It  was  the  same  at 
the  club.  He  must  be  in  town,  then,  on  secret 
262 


A     LADY     IN     DISTRESS 

business.  She  left  the  apothecary's  and,  with 
serious  face,  walked  on  down  the  street,  away 
from  her  house.  She  was  thinking  that  now 
she  knew  Harry  had  lied  to  her.  And  it  was 
the  second  time.  But  perhaps  it  was  just  be 
cause  he  thought  her  innocent  that  he  was  keep 
ing  her  so  in  the  dark.  Suppose  she  should  tell 
him  flatly  what  she  had  found  out  about  him 
to-day  ? 

She  walked  rapidly,  in  her  excitement,  turn 
ing  the  troubling  question  over  in  her  mind. 
She  did  not  realize  how  far  she  had  gone  until 
some  girl  she  knew,  passing  and  nodding  to  her, 
called  her  out  of  her  reverie.  She  was  almost 
in  front  of  the  University  Club.  A  few  blocks 
more  and  she  would  be  in  the  shopping  district. 
She  hesitated,  then  decided  that  it  would  be  bet 
ter  to  walk  a  little  further  and  take  a  cross-town 
car. 

A  group  of  men  was  leaving  the  club.     Two 

lingered  on  the  steps,  the  other  coming  quickly 

out.    At  sight  of  him,  she  averted  her  face,  and, 

hurrying,  turned  the  corner  and  walked  down  a 

263 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

block.  Her  heart  was  beating  rapidly.  What 
if  he  had  seen  her!  She  looked  about — there 
was  no  cab  in  sight — the  best  thing  to  do  was 
to  slip  into  one  of  the  crowded  shops,  full  of 
women,  and  wait  until  the  danger  had  passed. 
Once  inside  the  door  of  the  nearest,  she  felt  her 
self,  with  relief,  only  one  of  a  horde  of  pricers, 
lookers  and  buyers.  She  felt  as  if  she  had  lost 
her  identity.  She  went  to  the  nearest  counter 
and  asked  for  veils.  Partly  concealed  behind 
the  bulk  of  the  woman  next  her,  she  kept  her 
eye  on  the  door.  She  saw  Kerr  come  in.  How 
absurd  to  think  that  she  could  escape  him !  She 
turned  her  back  and  waited  a  moment  or  two, 
still  hoping  he  might  pass  her  by.  Then,  she 
heard  his  voice  behind  her: 

"Well,  this  is  luck!" 

She  was  conscious  of  giving  him  a  limp  hand. 
Pie  sat  down  on  the  vacant  stool  next  her, 
laughing. 

"You  are  a  most  remarkably  fast  walker," 
he  observed. 

"I  had  to  buy  a  veil,"  Flora  murmured. 
264 


A     LADY     IN     DISTRESS 

"Has  it  taken  you  all  the  morning?" 

She  could  see  she  had  not  fooled  him. 

"I  had  a  great  many  other  things  to  do." 
She  was  resolved  not  to  admit  anything. 

"No  doubt,  but  I  wanted  to  see  you  very  much 
last  night,  and  again  this  morning.  I  may  see 
you  this  evening,  perhaps?"  He  was  grave  now. 
She  saw  that  he  awaited  her  answer  in  anxiety. 

"But — "  she  hesitated  just  a  moment  too 
long  before  she  added,  "I'm  going  out  this  even- 
ing." 

She  started  nervously  to  rise. 

"Wait,"  he  said  in  a  voice  that  was  audible 
to  the  shop-girl,  "your  package  has  not  come." 

She  looked  at  him  helplessly,  so  attractive 
and  so  inimical  to  her.  He  swung  around,  back 
to  the  counter,  and  lowered  his  voice.  "Did  you 
know  I  called  upon  you  yesterday  morning, 
also?"  he  asked. 

She  nodded. 

"Mr.  Cressy  and  I  waited  for  you  together. 
Did  he  mention  it  to  you?" 

"No."     Her  lips  let  the  word  out  slowly. 
265 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

"That's  a  reticent  friend  of  yours!"  The  ex 
clamation,  and  the  truth  of  it,  put  her  on  her 
guard. 

"I  can't  discuss  him  with  you,"  she  said 
coldly. 

"Yet  no  doubt  you  have  discussed  me  with 
him?" 

"Never!" 

"You  haven't  told  him  anything?"  The  in 
credulity,  the  amazement  of  his  face  put  before 
her,  for  the  first  time,  how  extraordinary  her 
conduct  must  seem.  What  could  he  think  of 
her?  What  construction  would  he  put  upon 
it?  She  blushed,  neck  to  forehead,  and  her 
voice  was  scarcely  audible  as  she  answered 
"No." 

But  at  that  small  word  his  whole  mood 
warmed  to  her.  "Why,  then,"  he  began  eagerly, 
"if  Cressy  doesn't  know — " 

"Oh,  but  he — "  Flora  stopped  in  terror  of 
herself.    "I  can't  talk  of  him,  I  must  not.  Don't 
ask  me !"  she  implored,  "and  please,  please  don't 
come  to  my  house  again  !" 
266 


A     LADY     IN     DISTRESS 

He  gave  his  head  a  puzzled,  impatient  shake. 
"Then  where  am  I  to  see  you?" 

"In  a  few  days — perhaps  to-morrow — I  will 
let  you  know."  She  rose.  She  had  her  pack 
age  now.  She  was  getting  back  her  courage. 
There  was  no  further  way  of  keeping  her. 

But  he  followed  her  closely  through  the  crowd 
to  the  door.  "Yes,"  he  said  quickly  under  his 
breath,  "in  a  few  days,  perhaps  to-morrow,  as 
soon  as  you  get  rid  of  it,  you  won't  mind  meet 
ing  me!  What  are  you  afraid  of?  Surely  not 
me?" 

She  was,  but  hotly  denied  it. 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  you.  I  am  afraid  of 
them!" 

"Of  them !"  He  peered  at  her.  "What  are 
you  talking  about  now?" 

Ah,  she  had  said  too  much!  She  bit  her  lip. 
They  had  reached  the  corner,  and  the  gliding 
cable  car  was  approaching.  She  turned  to  him 
with  a  last  appeal. 

"Don't  ask  me  anything!     Don't  come  with 
me !    Don't  follow  me !" 
267 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

Not  until  she  was  safely  inside  the  car  did 
she  dare  look  back  at  him.  He  was  still  on  the 
corner,  and  he  raised  his  hat  and  smiled  so  re 
assuringly  that  she  was  half-way  home  before 
she  realized  that,  in  spite  of  all  she  had  urged 
upon  him,  he  had  not  committed  himself  to  any 
promise.  And  yet,  she  thought  in  dismay,  he 
had  almost  made  her  give  away  Harry's  confi 
dence.  She  was  seeing  more  and  more  clearly 
that  this  was  the  danger  of  meeting  him.  He 
always  got  something  out  of  her  and  never,  by 
chance,  gave  her  anything  in  return.  If  he 
should  seek  her  to-night  she  dared  not  be  at 
home !  Any  place  would  be  safer  than  her  own 
house.  It  would  be  better  to  fulfil  her  engage 
ment  and  go  to  the  reception  with  Clara  and 
Harry.  That  was  a  house  Kerr  did  not  know. 

It  was  awkward  to  have  to  announce  this  sud 
den  change  of  plan  after  her  pretenses  of  the 
morning,  but  of  late  she  had  lived  too  constantly 
with  danger  for  Clara's  lifted  eyebrows  to 
daunt  her.  The  mere  trivial  act  of  being 
dressed  each  day  was  fraught  with  danger.  To 
268 


A     LADY     IN     DISTRESS 

get  the  sapphire  off  her  person  before  Marrika 
should  appear;  to  put  it  back  somehow  after 
Marrika  had  done ;  to  shift  it  from  one  place 
to  another  as  she  wore  gowns  cut  high  or  low 
— and  every  moment  in  fear  lest  she  be  discov 
ered  in  the  act !  This  was  her  daily  manoeuver. 
To-night  she  clasped  the  chain  around  her 
waist  beneath  her  petticoats.  But  Marrika's 
sensitive  fingers,  smoothing  over,  for  the  last 
time,  the  close-fitting  front  of  the  gown,  felt  the 
sapphire,  fumbled  with  it,  and  tried  to  adjust  it 
like  a  button. 

"That  is  all  right,"  Flora  said  quickly. 
"Nothing  shows."  Was  it  always  to  make  it 
self  known,  she  thought  uneasily,  no  matter 
how  it  was  hid? 

She  was  ready  early,  in  the  hope  that  Harry 
might  come,  as  he  had  been  wont  to  do,  a  little 
before  the  appointed  hour.  But  he  turned  up 
without  a  moment  to  spare.  Clara  was  down 
stairs  in  her  cloak  when  he  appeared.  There 
was  no  chance  for  a  word  at  dinner.  But  if 
she  could  not  manage  it  later  in  the  wider  field 
269 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

of  the  reception,  why,  then  she  deserved  to  fail 
in  everything. 

But  she  found,  upon  their  arrival  that  even 
this  was  going  to  be  hard  to  bring  about.  For 
she  was  immediately  pounced  upon — first,  by 
Ella  Buller. 

"Why,  Flora,"  at  the  top  of  her  voice,  "where 
have  you  been  all  these  days !"  Then  in  a  hot 
whisper,  "Did  you  speak  to  her?  It  hasn't  done 
one  bit  of  good." 

"I  think  you  are  mistaken,"  Flora  murmured. 
"But  be  careful,  and  let  me  know — "  She  had 
only  time  for  that  broken  sentence  before  she 
was  surrounded;  and  other  voices  took  up  the 
chorus. 

She  was  getting  to  be  a  perfect  hermit. 

She  was  forgetting  all  her  old  friends. 

And  a  less  kindly  voice  in  the  background 
added,  "Yes,  for  new  ones." 

She   realized   with   some   alarm  that  though 

she  had  forgotten  her   public,  it  had  kept  its 

eye  on  her.     She  answered,  laughing,  that  she 

was  keeping  Lent  early,  and  allowed  herself  to 

270 


A     LADY     IN     DISTRESS 

be  drifted  about  through  the  crowd  by  more  or 
less  entertaining  people,  now  and  then  getting 
glimpses  of  Harry,  tracking  him  by  his  bur 
nished  brown  head,  waiting  her  opportunity  to 
get  him  cornered.  At  last  she  saw  him  making 
for  the  smoking-room.  Connecting  this  with 
the  drawing-room  where  she  stood  was  a  small 
red  lounging-room,  walls,  floor  and  furniture  all 
covered  with  crimson  velvet.  It  had  a  third 
door  which  communicated  indirectly  with  the 
reception-rooms,  by  means  of  a  little  hall.  She 
was  near  that  hall,  and  it  would  be  the  work  of 
a  moment  to  slip  by  way  of  it  into  the  red  room 
and  stop  Harry  on  his  way  through.  She  had 
not  played  at  such  a  game  since,  as  a  child,  she 
had  jumped  out  on  people  from  dark  closets,  and 
Harry  was  as  much  astonished  as  she  could  re 
member  they  had  been.  He  was  cutting  the  end 
of  a  cigar  and  he  all  but  dropped  it. 

"What  in  the  world  are  you  doing  here 
alone?"  He  spoke  peevishly.  "I  don't  see  how 
a  crowd  of  men  can  leave  such  a  bundle  of  fas 
cination  at  large !" 

271 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

She  made  him  a  low  courtesy  and  said  she 
was  preventing  him  from  doing  so. 

"It's  very  good  of  you,  and  you  are  very 
pretty,  Flora,"  he  admitted  with  a  grudging 
smile,  "but  I've  got  to  see  a  man  in  there."  His 
eyes  went  to  the  door  of  the  smoking-room 
whence  was  audible  a  discussion  of  voices,  and 
among  them  Judge  Buller's  basso.  She  was 
between  Harry  and  the  door.  Laughingly,  he 
made  as  if  to  put  her  aside,  when  the  door 
through  which  she  had  entered  opened  again 
sharply ;  and  Kerr  came  in. 

"Forgive  me.  I  followed  you,"  he  began.  Then 
he  saw  Harry.  "I — ha — ha — I've  been  hunting 
for  you,  Cressy,  all  the  evening !" 

Harry  accepted  the  statement  with  a  cynical 
smile.  It  was  too  evidently  not  for  him  Kerr  had 
been  hunting,  and  after  the  first  stammer  of 
embarrassment,  the  Englishman  made  no  at 
tempt  to  conceal  his  real  intentions.  His  words 
merely  served  him  as  an  excuse  not  to  retreat. 

"This  is  a  good  place  to  sit,"  he  said,  push- 
272 


A     LADY     IN     DISTRESS 

ing  forward  a  chair  for  Flora.  She  sank  into 
it,  wondering  weakly  what  daring  or  what  dan 
ger  had  brought  him  into  a  house  where  he 
was  not  known,  to  seek  her.  He  sat  down  in 
the  compartment  of  a  double  settee  near  her. 
Harry  still  stood  with  a  dubious  smile  on  his 
face.  The  look  the  two  men  exchanged  ap 
peared  to  her  a  prolongment  of  their  earnest  in 
terrogation  in  the  picture  gallery ;  but  this  time 
it  struck  her  that  both  carried  it  off  less  well. 
Harry,  especially,  bore  it  badly. 

"Did  you  say  you  were  looking  for  me?"  he 
remarked.  "Well,  Buller's  been  looking  for 
you.  He  wants  to  know  about  some  English 
man  that  they're  trying  to  put  up  at  the  club." 

"How's  that?  Oh,  yes!  I  remember."  Kerr 
shrugged.  "Never  heard  of  him  at  home,  and 
can't  vouch  for  every  fellow  who  comes  along, 
just  because  he  is  English." 

"Quite  so !"  said  Harry,  with  a  straight  look 
at  Kerr  that  made  Flora  uncomfortable. 

"But  Judge  Buller  has  already  vouched  for 
273 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

that  man,"  she  said  quickly,  "so  he  must  be  all 
right." 

Kerr  inclined  his  head  to  her  with  a  smile. 

"Buller  is  easily  taken  in,"  said  Harry 
calmly.  Under  the  direct,  the  insolent  meaning 
of  his  look  Flora  felt  her  face  grow  hot — her 
hands  cold.  Harry  could  sit  there  taunting  this 
man,  hitting  him  over  another  man's  back,  and 
Kerr  could  not  resent  it.  He  could  only  sit — 
his  head  a  little  canted  forward — looking  at 
Harry  with  the  traces  of  a  dry  smile  upon  his 
lips. 

She  thought  the  next  moment  everything 
would  be  declared.  She  sprang  up,  and,  with 
an  impulse  for  rescue,  went  to  the  door  of  the 
smoking-room.  "Judge  Buller,"  she  called. 

There  was  a  sudden  cessation  of  talk;  a 
movement  of  forms  dimly  seen  in  the  thick  blue 
element;  and  then  through  wreaths  of  smoke, 
the  judge's  face  dawned  upon  her  like  a  sun 
through  fog. 

"Well,  well,  Miss  Flora,"  he  wanted  to  know, 


A    LADY     IN     DISTRESS 

"to  what  bad  action  of  mine  do  I  owe  this  good 
fortune  ?" 

She  retreated,  beckoning  him  to  the  middle  of 
the  room.  "You  owe  it  to  the  bad  action  of 
another,"  she  said  gaily.  "Your  friends  are 
being  slandered." 

Harry  made  a  movement  as  if  he  would  have 
stopped  her,  and  the  expression  of  his  face,  in 
its  alarm,  was  comic.  But  she  paid  no  heed. 
She  laid  her  hand  on  Harry's  arm.  "Mr.  Ken- 
is  just  about  to  accuse  us  of  being  impostors," 
she  announced.  She  had  robbed  the  situation 
of  its  peril  by  gaily  turning  it  exactly  inside 
out. 

The  judge  blinked,  puzzled  at  this  extraor 
dinary  statement.  Harry  was  disconcerted ;  but 
Kerr  showed  an  astonishment  that  amazed  her — 
a  concern  that  she  could  not  understand.  He 
stared  at  her.  Then  he  laughed  rather  shakily  as 
he  turned  to  her  with  a  mock  gallant  bow. 

"All  women  impose  upon  us,  madam.  And 
as  for  Mr.  Cressy" — he  fixed  Harry  with  a 
275 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

look — "I  could  not  accuse  him  of  being  an  im 
postor  since  we  have  met  in  the  sacred  limits  of 
of  St.  James'." 

The  two  glances  that  crossed  before  Flora's 
watchful  eyes  were  keen  as  thrust  and  parry  of 
rapiers.  Harry  bowed  stiffly. 

"I  believe,  for  a  fact,  we  did  not  meet,  but 
I  think  I  saw  you  there  once — at  some  Embassy 
ball." 

The  words  rang,  to  Flora's  ears,  as  if  they 
had  been  shouted  from  the  housetops.  In  the 
speaking  pause  that  followed  there  was  audible 
an  unknown  hortatory  voice  from  the  smoking- 
room. 

"I  tell  you  it's  a  damn-fool  way  to  manage 
it!  What's  the  good  of  twenty  thousand  dol 
lars'  reward?"  Flora  clutched  nervously  at  the 
back  of  her  chair.  She  seemed  to  see  the  danger 
of  discovery  piling  up  above  Kerr  like  a  moun 
tain. 

The  judge  chuckled.  "You  see  what  you 
saved  me  from.  They've  been  at  it  hammer  and 
276 


A     LADY     IN     DISTRESS 

tongs  all  the  evening.  Every  man  in  town  has 
his  idea  on  that  subject." 

"For  instance,  what  is  that  one?"  Kerr's  cas 
ual  voice  was  in  contrast  to  his  guarded  eyes. 

The  judge  looked  pleased.  "That  one?  Why, 
that's  my  own — was,  at  least,  half  an  hour  ago. 
You  see,  about  that  twenty-thousand-dollar 
proposition — "  They  moved  nearer  him.  They 
stood,  the  four,  around  the  red  velvet-covered 
table,  like  people  waiting  to  be  served.  "The 
trouble  is  right  here,"  said  the  judge,  emphasiz 
ing  with  blunt  forefinger.  "The  crook  has  a 
pal.  That's  probable,  isn't  it?" 

Harry  nodded.  Flora  felt  Kerr's  eyes  upon 
her,  but  she  could  not  look  at  him. 

"And  we  see  the  thing  is  at  a  deadlock,  don't 
we?  Well,  now,"  the  judge  went  on  trium 
phantly,  "we  know  if  any  one  person  had  the 
whole  ring  it  would  be  turned  in  by  this  time. 
That  is  the  weak  spot  in  the  reward  policy. 
They  didn't  reckon  on  the  thing's  being  split." 

"Split?  No,  really,  do  you  think  that  pos- 
277 


THE     COAST    OF    CHANCE 

sible?"  Kerr  inquired,  and  Flora  caught  a  glim 
mer  of  irony  in  his  voice. 

"Well,  can  you  see  one  of  those  chaps  trust 
ing  the  other  with  more  than  half  of  it?"  The 
judge  was  scornful.  "And  a  fellow  needs  a 
whole  ring  if  he  is  after  a  reward."  He  rolled 
his  head  waggishly.  "Oh,  I  could  have  been 
a  crook  myself!"  he  chuckled,  but  his  was  the 
only  smiling  face  in  the  party. 

For  Kerr's  was  pale,  schooled  to  a  rigid  self- 
control. 

And  Harry's  was  crimson  and  swollen,  as  if 
with  a  sudden  rush  of  blood.  His  twitching 
hands,  his  sullen  eyes,  responded  to  Judge  Bui- 
ler's  last  word  as  if  it  had  been  an  accusation. 

"It  makes  me  damned  sick,  the  way  you  fel 
lows  talk — as  if  it  was  the  easiest  thing  in  the 
world  to — "  He  broke  off.  It  was  such  a  tone, 
loose,  harsh  and  uncontrolled,  as  made  Flora 
shrink. 

As  if  he  sensed  that  movement  in  her,  he 
turned  upon  her  furiously. 
278 


A    LADY    IN     DISTRESS 

"Well,  are  we  going  to  stand  here  all  night  ?" 
He  took  her  by  the  arm. 

She  felt  as  if  he  had  struck  her.  Buller  was 
staring  at  him,  but  Kerr  had  opened  the  door 
through  which  she  had  entered,  and  now,  turn 
ing  his  back  upon  Harry,  silently  motioned  her 
out. 

She  had  a  moment's  fear  that  Harry's  grasp, 
even  then,  wouldn't  let  go.  Indeed,  for  a  mo 
ment  he  stood  clutching  her,  as  if,  now  that  his 
rage  had  spent  itself,  she  was  the  one  thing 
he  could  hold  to.  Then  she  felt  his  fingers 
loosen.  He  stood  there  alone,  looking,  with  his 
great  bulk,  and  his  great  strength,  and  his 
abashed  bewilderment,  rather  pathetic. 

But  that  aspect  reached  her  dimly,  for  the 
fear  of  him  was  uppermost.  Her  arm  still 
burned  where  he  had  grasped  it.  She  moved 
away  from  him  toward  the  door  Kerr  had 
opened  for  her.  She  passed  from  the  light  of 
the  crimson  room  into  the  dark  of  the  passage. 
Some  one  followed  her  and  closed  the  door. 
279 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

Some  one  caught  step  with  her.     It  was  Kerr. 
He  bent  his  dark  head  to  speak  low. 

"I  don't  know  why  you  did  it,  you  quixotic 
child,  but  you  must  not  expose  yourself  in  this 
way,  for  any  reason  whatsoever." 

The  light  of  the  crowded  rooms  burst  upon 
them  again. 

"Oh,"  she  turned  to  him  beseechingly,  "can't 
you  get  me  away?" 

"Surely."  His  manner  was  as  if  nothing 
had  happened.  His  smile  was  reassuring.  "I'll 
call  your  carriage,  and  find  Mrs.  Britton." 

When  Flora  came  down  from  the  dressing- 
room  she  found  Clara  already  in  the  carriage, 
and  Kerr  mounting  guard  in  the  hall.  As  he 
handed  her  in,  Clara  leaned  forward. 

"Where  is  Mr.  Cressy?"  she  inquired. 

"He  sent  his  apologies,"  Kerr  explained. 
"He  is  not  able  to  get  away  just  now." 

Clara  could  not  control  a  look  of  astonish 
ment.     As  the  carriage  began    to    move    and 
Kerr's  face  disappeared  from  the  square  of  the 
window,  she  turned  to  Flora. 
280 


A     LADY     IN     DISTRESS 

"Have  you  and  Harry  quarreled  over  that 
man?" 

Flora's  voice  was  low.  "No.  But  Harry — 
Harry — "  she  stammered,  hardly  knowing  how 
to  put  it,  then  put  it  most  truly :  "Harry  is  not 
quite  himself  to-night." 

Flora  lay  back  in  the  carriage.  She  was 
dimly  aware  of  Clara's  presence  beside  her,  but 
for  the  moment  Clara  had  ceased  to  be  a  factor. 
The  shape  that  filled  all  the  foreground  of  her 
thought  was  Harry.  He  loomed  alarming  to 
her  imagination — all  the  more  so  since,  for  the 
moment,  he  had  seemed  to  lose  his  grip.  That 
was  another  thing  she  could  not  quite  understand. 
That  burst  of  violent  irritation  following,  as  it 
had,  Judge  Buller's  words !  If  Kerr  had  been 
the  speaker  it  would  have  been  natural  enough, 
since  all  through  this  interview  Harry's  evident 
antagonism  had  seemed  strained  to  the  snapping 
point. 

But  poor  Judge  Buller  had  been  harmless 
enough.  He  had  been  merely  theorizing.  But — 
wait !  She  made  so  sharp  a  movement  that  Clara 
281 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

looked  at  her.  The  judge's  theory  might  be 
close  to  facts  that  Harry  was  cognizant  of. 

For  herself  she  had  had  no  way  of  finding  out 
how  the  sapphire  had  got  adrift.  But  hadn't 
Harry?  Hadn't  he  followed  up  that  singular 
scene  with  the  blue-eyed  Chinaman  by  other  vis 
its  to  the  goldsmith's  shop?  Why,  yesterday, 
when  he  was  supposed  to  be  in  Burlingame, 
Clara  had  seen  him  in  Chinatown.  The  idea 
burst  upon  her  then.  Harry  was  after  the  whole 
ring.  He  counted  the  part  she  held  already  his, 
and  for  the  rest  he  was  groping  in  Chinatown; 
he  was  trying  to  reach  it  through  the  imper 
turbable  little  goldsmith.  But  he  had  not  reached 
it  yet — and  she  could  read  his  irritation  at  his 
failure  in  his  violent  outburst  when  Judge  Bul- 
ler  so  innocently  flung  the  difficulties  in  his  face. 
She  knew  as  much  now  as  she  could  bear.  If 
Harry  did  not  suspect  Kerr,  it  would  be  strange. 
But — Harry  waiting  to  make  sure  of  a  reward 
before  he  unmasked  a  thief!  It  was  an  uglj 
thought ! 

And  would  he  wait  for  the  *«*  »otr — now 


A     LADY     IN     DISTRESS 

that  the  situation  was  so  galling  to  him  ?  Might 
not  he  just  decide  to  take  the  sapphire,  and  with 
the  evidence  of  that,  risk  his  putting  his  hand 
on  the  "Idol"  when  he  grasped  the  thief? 

The  carriage  was  stopping.  Clara  was  mak 
ing  ready  to  get  out.  She  braced  herself  to  face 
Clara,  in  the  light,  with  a  casual  exterior — but 
when  she  had  reached  her  own  rooms  she  sank 
in  a  heap  in  the  chair  before  her  writing-table, 
and  laid  her  head  upon  the  table  between  her 
arms. 

In  her  wretchedness  she  found  herself  turn 
ing  to  Kerr.  How  stoically  he  had  endured  it 
all,  though  it  must  have  borne  on  him  most 
heavily !  How  kind  he  had  been  to  her !  He  had 
not  even  spoken  of  himself,  though  he  must  have 
known  the  shadows  were  closing  over  his  head. 
Any  moment  he  might  be  enshrouded.  If  it 
came  to  a  choice  between  having  him  taken  and 
giving  him  the  blue  jewel,  she  wondered  which 
she  would  do. 

In  the  gray  hours  of  the  morning  she  wrote 
Liu.  She  dared  not  put  the  perils  into  words, 
283 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

but  she  implied  them.  She  vaguely  threatened; 
and  she  implored  him  to  go,  avoiding  them  all, 
herself  more  than  any ;  and,  quaking  at  the  pos 
sibility  that  he  might,  after  all,  overcome  her, 
she  declared  that  before  he  went  she  would  not 
see  him  again.  She  closed  with  the  forbidding 
statement  that  whether  he  stayed  or  went,  at  the 
end  of  three  days  she  would  make  a  sure  disposal 
of  the  ring.  She  put  all  this  in  reckless  black 
and  white  and  sent  it  by  the  hand  of  Shima. 
Then  she  waited.  She  waited,  in  her  little  isola 
tion,  with  the  sapphire  always  hung  about  her 
neck,  waited  with  what  anticipation  of  marvelous 
results — avowals,  ideal  farewells,  or  possibly 
some  incredible  transformation  of  the  grim  face 
of  the  business.  And  the  answer  was  silence. 


284, 


XVI 

THE  HEART  OF  THE  DILEMMA 

THERE  is,  in  the  heart  of  each  gale  of 
events,  a  storm  center  of  quiet.  It  is  the 
very  deadlock  of  contending  forces,  in 
which  the  individual  has  space  for  breath  and 
apprehension.  Into  this  lull  Flora  fell  panting 
from  her  last  experience,  more  frightened  by 
this  false  calm  than  by  the  whirlwind  that  had 
landed  her  there.  Now  she  had  time  to  mark  the 
echoes  of  the  storm  about  her,  and  to  realize  her 
position.  Her  absorption  had  peopled  the  world 
for  her  with  four  people  at  most.  Now  she  had 
time  to  look  at  the  larger  aspect. 

From  the  middle  of  her  calm  she  saw  many 
inexplicable  appearances.    She  saw  them  every 
where,  from  the  small  round  of  Clara's  move 
ment  to  the  larger  wheel  of  the  public  aspect. 
285 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

Clara  was  taking  tea  with  the  Bullers,  and  the 
papers  had  ceased  to  mention  the  Crew  Idol. 

It  had  not  even  been  a  nine  days'  wonder.  It 
had  not  dwindled.  It  had  simply  dropped  from 
head-lines  to  nothing;  and  after  the  first  mur 
mur  of  astonishment  at  this  strange  vanishing, 
after  a  little  vain  conjecture  as  to  the  reason  of 
it,  the  subject  dropped  out  of  the  public  mouth. 
The  silence  was  so  sudden  it  was  like  a  suppres 
sion.  To  Flora  it  shadowed  some  forces  work 
ing  so  secretly,  so  surely,  that  they  had  extin 
guished  the  light  of  publicity.  They  must  be 
going  on  with  concentrated  and  terrible  activity 
in  cycles,  which  perhaps  had  not  yet  touched  her. 

So,  seeing  Major  Purdie  among  the  crowd  at 
some  one's  "afternoon"  where  she  was  pouring 
tea,  she  looked  up  at  his  cheerful  face  and  high 
bald  dome  with  a  passionate  curiosity.  He  knew 
why  the  press  had  been  extinguished,  and  what 
they  were  doing  in  the  dark.  She  knew  where 
the  sapphire  was — and  where  the  culprit  was  to 
be  found.  And  to  think  that  they  could  tell  each 
other,  if  they  would,  each  a  tale  the  other  would 
286 


THE     HEART     OF     THE     DILEMMA 

hardly  dare  believe.  Amazing  appearances ! 
How  far  away,  how  foreign  from  the  facts  they 
covered!  But  Major  Purdie  had  the  best  of  it. 
He  at  least  was  doing  his  duty.  He  was  stand 
ing  stiffly  on  one  side,  while  she  hesitated  be 
tween,  trying  desperately  to  push  Kerr  out  of 
sight  before  she  dared  uncover  the  jewel.  But 
he  wouldn't  move.  In  spite  of  all  she  had  done, 
he  wouldn't. 

Across  the  room  that  very  afternoon  she 
caught  the  twinkle  of  his  resisting  smile.  He 
had  had  her  letter  then  for  two  days,  and  still 
he  had  come  here,  though  he'd  been  bidden  to 
stay  away ;  though  he  had  been  warned  to  keep 
away  from  all  places  where  she,  or  these  people 
around  her,  might  find  him ;  though  he  had  been 
implored  to  go,  finally,  as  far  away  as  the  round 
surface  of  the  world  would  let  him. 

By  what  he  had  heard  and  seen  in  the  red 
room  that  night,  he  must  know  her  warning  had 
not  been  ridiculous.  And  there  was  another 
threat  less  apparent  on  the  face  of  things,  but 
evident  enough  to  her.  It  was  the  change  in 
287 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

Clara  after  she  had  begun  her  attack  on  the 
Bullers,  her  appearance  of  being  busy  with 
something,  absorbed  with,  intent  upon,  some 
thing,  which,  if  she  had  not  secured  it  yet,  at 
least  she  had  well  in  reach.  And  that  thing — 
suppose  it  had  to  do  with  the  Crew  Idol;  and 
suppose  Clara  should  play  into  Harry's  hands ! 

For  Kerr's  escape  Flora  had  been  holding  the 
ring,  fighting  off  events,  and  yet  all  the  while 
she  had  not  wanted  to  lose  the  sight  of  him. 
Well,  now,  when  she  had  made  up  her  mind 
finally  to  resign  herself  to  the  dreariness  of  that, 
might  he  not  at  least  have  done  his  part  of  it 
and  decently  disappeared?  So  much  he  might 
have  done  for  her.  Instead  of  smiling  at  her 
across  crowded  tea-rooms,  and  obliquely  glanc 
ing  at  her  down  decorous  dinner-tables,  and 
with  the  same  fatal  facility  he  had  displayed  in 
getting  at  her,  now  keeping  away  from  her,  out 
of  all  possible  reach. 

He  was  playing  her  own  trick  on  her,  but  her 
chances  for  getting  at  him  again  were  fewer 
than  his  had  been  with  her.  She  could  not  be- 
288 


THE     HEART     OF     THE     DILEMMA 

siege  him  in  his  abode ;  and  in  the  places  where 
they  met,  large  houses  crowded  with  people,  the 
eye  of  the  world  was  upon  her.  For  how  long 
had  she  forgotten  it — she  who  had  been  all  her 
life  so  deferential  toward  it!  Even  now  she  re 
membered  it  only  because  it  interfered  with  what 
she  wanted  to  do. 

For  the  eye  of  her  small  society  was  very 
keenly  upon  Kerr.  She  realized,  all  at  once,  that 
he  had  become  a  personage ;  and  then,  by  smiles, 
by  lifted  eyebrows,  by  glances,  she  gathered  that 
her  name  was  being  linked  with  his.  She  was 
astonished.  How  could  their  luncheon  together 
at  the  Purdies',  their  words  that  night  in  the 
opera  box,  their  few  minutes'  talk  in  the  shop, 
have  crystallized  into  this  gossip?  It  vexed  her 
— alarmed  her,  how  it  had  got  about  when  she 
had  seen  him  so  seldom,  had  known  him  scarcely 
more  than  a  week.  It  was  simply  in  the  air. 
It  was  in  her  attitude  and  in  his,  but  how  far  it 
had  gone  she  did  not  dream,  until  in  the  dense 
crowd  of  some  one's  at-home  she  caught  the 
words  of  a  young  girl.  The  voice  was  so  sweet 
289 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANGE 

and  so  prettily  modulated  that  at  its  first  notes 
Flora  turned  involuntarily  to  glimpse  the 
speaker,  a  slender  creature  in  a  delicate  mist  of 
muslin,  with  an  indeterminate  chin  and  the  cheek 
of  a  pale  peach. 

"Just  think,"  Flora  heard  her  saying,  "he 
went  to  see  her  three  times  in  two  days,  but  to 
day,  did  you  notice,  he  wouldn't  look  at  her  until 
she  went  up  and  spoke  to  him.  I  don't  see  how  a 
girl  can !  Harry  Cressy — " 

She  moved  away  and  the  words  were  lost. 
Flora  looked  after  her.  For  the  moment  she  felt 
only  scorn  for  the  creatures  who  had  clapped 
that  interpretation  upon  her  great  responsibil 
ity.  These  people  around  her  seemed  poor  in 
deed,  absorbed  only  in  petty  considerations,  and 
seeing  everything  down  the  narrow  vista  of  the 
"correct."  Her  eyes  followed  the  young  girl's 
course  through  the  room,  easy  to  trace  by  her 
shining  blond  head,  and  the  unusual  deliciousness 
of  her  muslin  gown.  She  stopped  beside  two 
women,  and  with  a  certain  sense  of  pleasure  and 
embarrassment  Flora  recognized  one  of  them — 
290 


THE     HEART    OF    THE     DILEMMA 

Mrs.  Herrick.  She  caught  the  lady's  eye  and 
bowed.  Mrs.  Herrick  smiled,  with  a  gracious 
inclination  in  which  her  graceful  shoulders  had 
a  part. 

It  gave  Flora  the  sense  Mrs.  Herrick's  pres 
ence  always  brought  her,  of  protection,  or 
security,  and  the  possibility  of  friendship  finer 
than  she  had  ever  known.  She  started  forward. 
But  Mrs.  Herrick,  presenting  instantly  her  pro 
file,  drew  the  young  girl's  hand  through  her  arm 
and  moved  away. 

Flora  winced  as  if  she  had  received  a  blow. 
The  other  people  who  had  heard  the  same  gossip 
of  her  had  been,  on  account  of  it,  all  the  more 
amused,  and  anxious  to  talk  to  her.  But  Mrs. 
Herrick,  though  she  bowed  and  smiled,  did  not 
want  her  too  near  her  daughter;  perhaps,  her 
self,  would  have  preferred  not  to  speak  to  her. 

She  felt  herself  judged — judged  from  the 
outside,  it  is  true — but  still  there  was  justice  in 
it.  She  had  been  flying  in  the  face  of  custom, 
ignoring  common  good  behavior,  in  short,  stick 
ing  to  her  own  convictions  in  defiance  of  the 
291 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

world's.    And  she   must  pay  the  penalty — the 
loss  of  the  possibility  of  such  a  friend. 

But  it  was  hard,  she  thought,  to  pay  the  price 
without  getting  the  thing  she  had  paid  for.  It 
was  more  like  a  gamble  in  which  she  had  staked 
all  on  a  chance.  And  never  had  this  chance  ap 
peared  more  improbable  to  her  than  now.  For 
if  Kerr  valued  the  ring  more  than  he  valued  his 
safety,  what  argument  was  left  her?  She 
thought — if  only  she  had  been  a  different  sort  of 
woman — the  sort  with  whom  men  fall  in  love — 
ah,  then  she  might  have  been  able  to  make  one 
further  appeal  to  him — one  that  surely  would 
not  have  failed. 


292 


XVII 

THE    DEMIGOD 

ON  the  third  day  she  opened  her  eyes 
to  the  sun  with  the  thought :  Where  is 
he  ?  From  the  windows  of  her  room  she 
could  see  the  two  pale  points  and  the  narrow 
way  of  water  that  led  into  the"  western  ocean. 
Had  he  sailed  out  yonder  west  into  the  east,  into 
that  oblivion  which  was  his  only  safety,  for  ever 
out  of  her  sight  ?  Or  was  he  still  at  hand,  ignor 
ing  warning,  defying  fate?  "What  difference 
can  that  make  to  me  now?"  she  thought,  "since 
whether  he  is  here  or  yonder  I've  come  to  the 
end." 

She  drew  out  the  sapphire  and  held  it  in  her 
hand.   The  cloud  of  events  had  cast  no  film  over 
its  luster,  but  she  looked  at  it  now  without  pleas 
ure.  For  all  its  beauty  it  wasn't  worth  what  they 
293 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

were  doing  for  it.  Well,  to-day  they  were  both 
of  them  to  see  the  last  of  it.  To-day  she  was  go 
ing  to  take  it  to  Mr.  Purdie  to  deliver  it  into  his 
hands,  to  tell  him  how  it  had  fallen  into  hers  in 
the  goldsmith's  shop — all  of  the  story  that  was 
possible  for  her  to  tell.  For  the  rest,  how  she 
came  to  fix  suspicion  on  the  jewel,  he  might 
think  her  fanciful  or  morbid.  It  didn't  matter  as 
long  as  the  weary  thing  was  out  of  her  hands. 
It  couldn't  matter ! 

She  had  made  it  out  all  clear  in  her  mind  that 
this  was  the  right  thing  to  do.  It  hadn't  oc 
curred  to  her  she  had  made  it  out  only  on  the 
hypothesis  of  Kerr's  certainly  going.  It  had  not 
occurred  to  her  that  she  might  have  to  make  her 
great  moral  move  in  the  dark;  or,  what  was 
worse,  in  the  face  of  his  most  gallant  resistance. 
In  this  discouraging  light  she  saw  her  intention 
dwindle  to  the  vanishing  point,  but  the  great 
move  was  just  as  good  as  it  had  been  before — 
just  as  solid,  just  as  advisable.  Being  so  very 
solid,  wouldn't  it  wait  until  she  had  time  to  show 
him  that  she  really  meant  what  she  said,  sup- 
294 


posing  she  ever  had  a  chance  to  see  him  again? 
The  possibility  that  at  this  moment  he  might 
actually  have  gone  had  almost  escaped  her.  She 
recalled  it  with  a  disagreeable  shock,  but, 
after  all,  that  was  the  best  she  could  hope,  never 
to  see  him  again !  She  ought  to  be  grateful  to 
be  sure  of  that,  and  yet  if  she  were,  oh,  never 
could  she  deprive  him  of  so  much  beauty  and 
light  by  her  keeping  of  the  sapphire  as  he  would . 
then  have  taken  away  from  her ! 

She  would  come  down  then,  indeed,  level  with 
plainest,  palest,  hardest  things — people  and 
facts.  Her  romance — she  had  seen  it;  she  had 
had  it  in  her  hands,  and  it  had  somehow  eluded 
her.  It  had  vanished,  evaporated.  It  had  come 
to  her  in  rather  a  terrific  guise,  presented  to  her 
on  that  night  at  the  club  by  the  first  debonair 
wave  of  the  man's  hand ;  and  now  he  might  have 
gone  out  through  that  white  way  into  the  east, 
taking  back  her  romance  as  the  fairy  takes  back 
his  unappreciated  gift. 

She  leaned  and  looked  through  the  thin  veil 
of  her  curtains  at  the  splendid  day.   It  was  one 
295 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

of  February's  freaks.  It  was  hot.  The  white 
ghost  of  noon  lay  over  shore  and  sea.  Beneath 
her  the  city  seemed  to  sleep  gray  and  glistening. 
The  tops  of  hills  that  rose  above  the  up-creep 
ing  houses  were  misted  green.  Across  the  bay, 
along  the  northern  shore,  there  was  a  pale  green 
coast  of  hills  dividing  blue  and  blue.  Ships  in 
the  bay  hung  out  white  canvas  drying,  and  the 
sky  showed  whiter  clouds,  slow-moving,  like  sails 
upon  a  languid  sea.  Beneath  her,  directly  down, 
through  hanging  darts  of  eucalyptus  leaves, 
hemmed  with  high  hedges,  the  oval  of  her  gar 
den  showed  her  a  pattern  like  a  Persian  carpet. 
Roofs  sloped  beyond  it,  and  beyond  these  the 
diagram  of  streets  and  houses,  and  empty  un 
built  grassy  lots. 

She  looked  down  upon  all,  as  lone  and  lonely 
as  a  deserted  lady  in  a  tower,  lifted  above  these 
happy,  peaceful  things  by  her  strange  responsi 
bility.  Her  thoughts  could  not  stay  with  them ; 
her  eyes  traveled  seaward.  She  parted  the  cur 
tains  and,  leaning  a  little  out,  looked  westward 
at  the  white  sea  gate. 

296 


THE     DEMIGOD 

A  whistle,  as  of  some  child  calling  his  mate, 
came  sweetly  in  the  silence.  It  was  near,  and 
the  questing,  expectant  note  caught  her  ear. 
Again  it  came,  sharper,  imperative,  directly  be 
neath  her.  She  looked  down ;  she  was  speechless. 
There  was  a  sudden  wild  current  of  blood  in  her 
veins.  There  he  stood,  the  whistler,  neither 
child  nor  bird,  but  the  man  himself — Kerr,  look 
ing  up  at  her  from  the  gay  oval  of  her  garden. 
She  hung  over  the  window-sill.  She  looked  di 
rectly  down  upon  him,  foreshortened  to  a  face, 
and  even  with  the  distance  and  the  broad  glare 
of  noon  between  them  she  recognized  his  as 
pect — his  gayest,  of  diabolic  glee.  There  lurked 
about  him  the  impish  quality  of  the  whistle  that 
had  summoned  her. 

"Come  down,"  he  called. 

All  sorts  of  wonders  and  terrors  were  beating 
around  her.  He  had  transcended  her  wildest 
wish;  he  had  come  to  her  more  openly,  more 
daringly,  more  romantically  than  she  could  have 
dreamed.  All  the  amazement  of  why  and  how 
he  had  braved  the  battery  of  the  windows  of  her 
297 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

house  was  swallowed  up  in  the  greater  joy  of 
seeing  him  there,  standing  in  his  "grays,"  with 
stiff  black  hat  pushed  off  his  hot  forehead,  hands 
behind  him,  looking  up  at  her  from  the  middle 
of  anemones  and  daffodils. 

"Come  down,"  he  called  again,  and  waved  at 
her  with  his  slim,  glittering  stick.  How  far  he 
had  come  since  their  last  encounter,  to  wave  at 
and  command  her,  as  if  she  were  verily  his 
own!  She  left  the  window,  left  the  room,  ran 
quickly  down  the  stair.  The  house  was  hushed; 
no  passing  but  her  own,  no  butler  in  the  hall,  no 
kitchen-maid  on  the  back  stair.  Only  grim  faces 
of  pictures — ancestors  not  her  own — glimmered 
reproachful  upon  her  as  she  fled  past.  Light 
echoes  called  her  back  along  the  hall.  The  fur 
niture,  the  muffling  curtains,  her  own  reflection 
flying  through  the  mirrors,  held  up  to  her  her 
madness,  and  by  their  mute  stability  seemed  to 
remind  her  of  the  shelter  she  was  leaving — 
seemed  to  forbid. 

She  ran.  This  was  not  shelter ;  it  was  prison. 
He  was  rescue;  he  was  light  itself.  The  only 
298 


THE     DEMIGOD 

chance  for  her  was  to  get  near  enough  to  him. 
Near  him  no  shadow  lived.  The  thing  was  to  get 
near  enough.  She  rushed  direct  from  shadow  into 
light.  She  came  out  into  the  sun,  into  the  gar 
den  with  its  blaze  of  wintry  summer,  its  whisper 
ing  life  and  the  free  air  over  it.  The  man  stand 
ing  in  the  middle  of  it,  for  all  his  pot  hat  and 
Gothic  stick,  was  none  the  less  its  demigod  wait 
ing  for  her,  laughing.  He  might  well  laugh  that 
she  who  had  written  that  unflinching  letter 
should  come  thus  flying  at  his  call;  but  there 
was  more  than  laughter,  there  was  more  than 
mischief  in  him.  The  high  tide  of  his  spirits  was 
only  the  sparkle  of  his  excitement.  It  was  evi 
dent  that  he  was  there  with  something  of  mighty 
importance  to  say. 

Was  it  that  her  letter  had  finally  touched  him  ? 
Had  he  come  at  last  to  transcend  her  idea  with 
some  even  greater  purpose?  She  seemed  to  see 
the  power,  the  will  for  that  and  the  kindness — 
she  could  not  call  it  by  another  word — but 
though  she  was  beseeching  him  with  all  her  si 
lent  attitude  to  tell  her  instantly  what  the  great 
299 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

thing  was,  he  kept  it  back  a  moment,  looking  at 
her  whimsically,  indulgently,  even  tcnderty. 

"I  have  come  for  you,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  for  me!"  she  murmured.  Surely  he 
couldn't  mean  that !  He  was  simply  putting  her 
off  with  that. 

"I  mean  it,  I  mean  it,"  he  assured  her.  "This 
doesn't  make  it  any  less  real,  my  getting  at  you 
through  a  garden.  Better,"  he  added,  "and 
sweet  of  you  to  make  the  duller  way  impossible." 

She  took  a  step  back.  It  had  not  been  play  to 
her ;  but  he  would  have  it  nothing  else.  He,  too, 
stepped  back  and  away  from  her. 

"Come,"  he  said,  and  behind  him  she  saw  the 
lower  garden  gate  that  opened  on  the  grassy 
pitch  of  the  hill,  swinging  idle  and  open.  The 
sight  of  him  about  to  vanish  lured  her  on,  and 
as  he  continued  to  walk  backward  she  advanced, 
following. 

"Oh,  where?"  she  pleaded. 

"With  me !"  Such  a  guaranty  of  good  faith 
he  made  it ! 

She  tried  to  summon  her  reluctance. 
300 


THE     DEMIGOD 

"But  why?" 

"We'll  talk  about  it  as  we  go  along."  His 
hand  was  on  the  gate.  "We  can't  stop  here,  you 
know.  She'll  be  watching  us  from  the  window." 

Flora  glanced  behind  her.  The  windows  were 
all  discreetly  draped — most  likely  ambush — but 
that  he  should  apprehend  Clara's  eyes  behind 
them !  Ah,  then,  he  did  know  what  he  was  about ! 
He  saw  Clara  as  she  did.  She  would  almost  have 
been  ready  to  trust  him  on  the  strength  of  that 
alone.  Still  she  hung  back. 

"But  my  things !"  she  protested.  She  held  up 
her  garden  hat.  "And  my  gown!"  She  looked 
down  at  her  frail  silk  flounces.  Was  ever  any 
woman  seen  on  the  street  like  this ! 

"Oh,  la,  la,  la,"  he  cut  her  short.  "We  can't 
stop  to  dress  the  part.  You'll  forget  'em." 

She  smiled  at  him  suddenly,  looked  back  at 
the  house,  put  on  her  hat — the  garden  hat.  The 
moment  she  had  dreaded  was  upon  her.  In  spite 
of  her  warning  reason,  in  spite  of  everything, 
she  was  going  with  him. 

Beyond  the  looming  roofs  as  they  descended 
301 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

the  hill  she  saw  white  sails  sink  out  of  sight.  All 
the  little  panorama  upon  which  she  had  looked 
down  sprang  up  around  her,  large  and  living. 
He  whistled  to  the  car  as  he  helped  her  down  the 
last  steep  pitch,  whistled  and  waved,  and  they 
ran  for  it.  No  time  for  back-looking,  no  time 
now  for  a  faint  heart.  Before  she  knew  they 
were  fairly  crowded  into  the  narrow  front  seat, 
and  the  long  street  was  running  up  to  them  and 
streaming  by. 

This  was  never  the  car  one  went  out  the  front 
door  to  take.  This  creaked  and  crawled  low, 
taking  the  corners  comfortably,  past  houses 
with  all  their  windows  blinking  recognition. 
Hadn't  it  passed  them  so  for  twenty  years  ?  Old 
houses  in  long  gardens,  and  little  houses  creep 
ing  back  behind  their  yards,  not  yet  encroached 
upon  by  fresher  ties  of  living.  Past  all  these 
and  gliding  down  under  high,  ragged  banks, 
green  grass  above  with  wooden  stairways  strag 
gling  up  their  naked  faces;  past  these  again; 
past  lower  levels ;  past  little  gray  and  cluttered 
houses ;  past  loaded  carts  of  vegetables ;  past 
302 


THE    DEMIGOD 

children  playing  shrilly,  bearing  down  always 
on  the  green  square  of  the  plaza  wide,  worn  and 
foreign,  and  the  Greek  church  "domed"  with  blue 
and  yellow,  bearing  down  as  if  it  had  fairly  de 
termined  to  make  its  course  straight  through 
this  stable  center.  Then  in  the  very  shadow  it 
swerved  aside  to  clatter  off  in  quite  another 
direction  along  a  wider  street  with  whiter  shops, 
and  more  glittering  windows  with  gilded  letters 
flashing  foreign  names,  with  more  marked  and 
brilliant  colors  moving  in  the  crowd,  with  a 
clearer  stamp  on  all  of  Latin  living. 

Then  suddenly  for  them  the  sliding  panorama 
ceased.  The  car  had  stopped  and  they  had  left 
it,  and  were  standing  upon  the  corner  of  a 
still  street  that  came  down  from  the  high  hills 
behind  them  and  crossed  the  car-track  and 
climbed  again  a  little  way  to  curve  over  into  the 
sky.  Dingy  houses  two  blocks  above  them  stood 
silhouetted  against  the  blue.  They  were  walking 
upward  toward  this  horizon,  leaving  color  and 
motion  behind  them.  With  every  step  the  street 
grew  more  empty,  lonely  and  colorless.  Many 
303 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

of  the  windows  that  glimmered  at  them,  passing, 
were  the  blank  windows  of  empty  houses.  Were 
they  taking  this  way,  this  curious  roundabout 
out-of-the-world  way,  of  dropping  over  into  the 
shipping  which  lay  under  the  hill?  For  all  she 
knew  this  might  really  be  his  notion,  for  since 
they  had  left  the  garden  gate,  though  they  had 
looked  together  at  the  light  and  color  of  the 
pictures  moving  past  their  eyes,  they  had  not 
exchanged  a  word. 

But  all  at  once  he  stopped  at  the  intersection 
of  two  dusty  streets,  sind  his  eyes  veered  down 
the  four  perspectives  like  a  voyageur  taking  his 
soundings.  Elegant  as  ever  and  odd  enough,  yet 
he  wasn't  any  odder  here  at  the  jumping  off 
place  of  nowhere  than  he  had  appeared  in  the 
box  at  the  theater,  or  in  the  picture  gallery. 
She  had  the  clear  impression  all  at  once  that  he 
wasn't  too  odd  for  anything. 

"Here  we  are !"  he  said,  and  indicated  with  his 

glittering   stick    straight   before   them   a  little 

house.   It  was  low,  as  if  it  crouched  against  the 

wind,  faded  and  beaten  by  the  sun  to  the  drab 

304 


THE     DEMIGOD 

of  the  rock  itself,  and  made  so  secret  with  tight- 
drawn  curtains  that  it  seemed  to  have  shut 
itself  up  against  the  world  for  ever.  She  wa 
vered.  She  wasn't  afraid  of  herself  out  here,  out- 
of-doors  under  the  sky,  but  she  was  afraid  that 
those  four  walls  might  shut  out  her  new  un 
reasoning  joy,  might  steal  away  his  new  tender 
ness,  and  bring  her  back  face  to  face  with  the 
same  ugly  fact  that  had  confronted  her  in  her 
drawing-room. 

"Oh,  no,"  she  said,  and  put  her  hands  behind 
her  with  a  determination  that  she  wasn't  going 
to  move. 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  but  he  didn't  smile.  He 
looked  at  her  quite  gravely,  reproachfully,  and 
the  touch  of  his  fingers  on  her  arm  was  fine, 
was  delicate,  as  if  to  say,  "I  wouldn't  harm  you 
for  the  world." 

She  blushed  a  slow,  painful  crimson.  She 
hadn't  meant  that.  She  hadn't  even  thought  of 
it ;  but,  since  he  had,  there  was  nothing  for  it 
but  to  go  in.  The  door  shut  behind  her  sharply, 
with  a  click  like  a  little  trap;  and  she  breathed 
305 


such  an  atmosphere,  flat,  faint  and  stale,  the 
mere  ghost  of  some  fuller,  more  fragrant  flavor. 
In  the  little  anteroom  where  they  stood,  whose 
faded  ceiling  all  but  brushed  their  heads,  and  in 
the  larger  little  room  beyond  the  Nottingham 
lace  curtains,  prevailed  a  mild  shabbiness,  a  re 
spectable  decay.  Curtains  and  table-cloths  alike 
showed  a  dull  and  tempered  whiteness  as  if  the 
shadow  of  time  had  fallen  dim  across  the  whole. 
The  little  restaurant  seemed  left  behind  in  the 
onward  march  of  the  city,  and  its  faded,  kindly 
face  was  but  a  shadow  of  what  had  been  of  the 
vigor  and  flourish  of  bourgeois  Spain  thirty 
years  before.  There  was  no  one  eating  at  the 
little  tables,  no  one  sitting  behind  the  high  cash- 
desk  in  the  anteroom.  Not  a  stir  of  human  life 
in  all  the  place. 

"Hello,"  said  Kerr  among  the  tables  looking 
around  him,  "we've  caught  them  asleep."  He 
rapped  on  the  wall  with  his  cane.  Flora  peered 
at  him  between  the  curtains,  all  her  fascinated 
apprehension  of  what  was  to  follow  plain  upon 
her  face.  "Shall  it  be  a  giant  or  dwarf?"  he 
306 


THE     DEMIGOD 

asked  her.  "There's  nothing  I  won't  do  for  you, 
you  know." 

The  door  opened  and  a  little  girl  with  a  long 
black  braid  and  purple  apron  came  in. 

"A  dwarf,"  cried  Flora.  She  laughed  with  a 
quick  relaxing  of  her  strained  nerves.  It  might 
almost  have  been  the  truth  from  that  old  little 
swarthy  face  and  sedate  demeanor  that  hardly 
noticed  them.  The  child  walked  gravely  up  to 
the  desk  and  mounting  to  the  high  stool  struck 
a  faint-voiced  bell. 

"There,"  said  Kerr,  "ends  formality.  Now 
let  the  real  magic  begin !" 

"Not  black  magic,"  Flora  took  up  his  fancy. 

He  had  drawn  out  a  chair  for  her.  "That  de 
pends  on  you.  I'm  not  the  magic  maker.  I  have 
no  talisman." 

She  felt  the  conscious  jewel  burn  in  her  pos 
session.  She  looked  up  beseechingly  at  him,  but 
he  only  laughed,  and,  with  a  swing,  lifted  the 
chair  a  little  off  the  ground  as  he  set  her  up  to 
the  table,  as  if  to  show  how  easily  he  could  put 
forth  strength.  There  was  nothing  defiant  in 
307 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

him.  He  was  taking  her  with  him — taking  her 
upon  the  wings  of  his  high  spirits  ;  but  mischiev 
ously,  obstinately,  he  would  not  show  her  where 
the  flight  was  leading,  nor  let  her  listen  to  any 
thing  but  the  rustling  of  those  wings.  He  was 
determined  to  make  holiday,  whatever  was  to  fol 
low.  For  the  glimpse  of  blue  through  the  dim 
window  might  be  the  Bay  of  Naples ;  and,  ah ! 
Chianti.  Perhaps  the  sort  one  gets  down  Monte 
Video  way,  where  France  fades  into  Italy — per 
haps,  at  least  if  her  kind  fancy  could  get  the 
better  of  the  reality.  In  Sicily  there  were  just 
such  table-cloths  as  these,  and  just  such  fat  floor- 
shaking  contadini  to  wait  upon  you.  And  look 
now  at  the  purple  one  behind  the  desk — child  or 
gnome — feet  not  touching  the  floor — centuries 
of  Italy  in  her  face.  Oh,  calculation,  indifference ! 
"She  wouldn't  care  if  you  jumped  up  and 
threw  me  out  of  the  window,"  he  affirmed. 
"That's  why  this  hole  is  so  harmless.  Oh,  isn't 
that  harmless?  What's  more  harmless  than  to 
let  one  alone?  There's  only  one  dangerous  thing 
308 


THE     DEMIGOD 

hero,"  he  grinned  and  let  her  take  her  choice  of 
which. 

She  came  straight  at  it. 

"You  know  I  can't  let  you  alone." 

He  laughed.  "Well,  isn't  that  why  we're  here 
at  last — that  you  may  dictate  your  terms?" 

"I  have.    Didn't  you  get  my  letter?" 

"Oh,  indeed  I  did.  Haven't  I  obeyed  it? 
Haven't  I  kept  away  from  your  house?  Have  I 
tried  to  approach  you?" 

"Haven't  you,  though  ?"  she  threw  at  him  ac 
cusingly. 

"Ah,"  he  deprecated,  "you  came  to  me.  I  was 
down  in  the  garden." 

She  looked  at  him  through  his  persiflage  wist 
fully,  searchingly.  "But  there  were  other  tilings 
in  that  letter." 

"There  were?"  He  regarded  her  with  grave 
surprise.  Oh,  how  she  mistrusted  his  gravity! 
"Why,  to  be  sure  there  were  things — things  that 
you  didn't  mean — one  thing  above  all  others 
you  couldn't  mean,  that  you  want  me  to  drop 
309 


out  when  the  game  is  half  done,  to  slink  away 
and  leave  it  all  like  this — abandon  you  and  my 
Idol  so  to  each  other !  My  dear,  for  what  do  you 
take  me?" 

She  burst  out.  "But  can't  you  see  the  dan 
ger?" 

He  met  it  quietly. 

"Certainly.  I  have  been  seeing  nothing  else 
but  the  danger — to  you.  Do  you  think  I've  been 
idle  all  these  days?  Every  line  I  have  followed 
has  ended  in  that.  It's  brought  me  finally  to 
this."  The  gesture  of  his  hand  included  their 
predicament  and  the  dingy  little  room.  "You'll 
really  have  to  help  me,  after  all." 

"Oh,  haven't  I  tried  to?  That  is  why  I  wrote. 
Don't  you  see  your  own  danger  at  all?" 

"No,  but  I'd  like  to."  He  leaned  toward  her, 
brows  lifted  to  a  quizzical  peak. 

"Oh,  I  can't  tell  you,"  she  despaired.  "But 
somehow  I  shall  have  to  make  you  go." 

"That  will  be  easy,"  he  said.  Leaning  back, 
nursing  his  chin  in  his  hand,  he  watched  her  with 
a  gloomy  sort  of  brooding.  "You  know  what  it 
310 


THE     DEMIGOD 

is  I'm  waiting  for.  You  know  I  won't  go  with 
out  it."  His  words  came  sadly,  but  doggedly, 
with  a  grim  finality,  as  if  he  gave  himself  up  to 
the  course  he  was  following  as  something  he 
knew  was  inevitable.  The  faintness  of  despair 
came  over  her.  Only  the  narrow  table  was  be 
tween  them,  yet  all  at  once,  with  the  mention  of 
the  ring,  he  seemed  a  long  way  off.  What  was 
this  terrible  obsession  that  outweighed  every 
other  consideration  with  him?  How  get  at  it? 
How  get  through  it?  Or  was  it  between  them 
for  ever? 

"Do  you  care  for  it  so  very  much  ?"  she  asked 
him,  trembling  but  valiant. 

"I  care  so  very  much,"  he  repeated  slowly, 
and  after  a  moment  of  wonder:  "Why,  don't 
you?" 

"Oh,  not  for  that,"  she  cried  sharply.  "Not 
for  the  sapphire !" 

He  stared.  She  had  startled  him  clean  out  of 
his  brooding.  "In  Heaven's  name,  for  what, 
then?" 

Oh,  she  could  never  tell  him  it  was  for  him! 
311 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

In  her  distress  and  embarrassment  she  looked  all 
ways. 

His  quick  white  finger  touched  her  on  the 
wrist.  "For  Cressy?" 

The  abrupt  stern  note  of  his  question  startled 
her.  She  held  herself  stiff  and  still  for  a  mo 
ment,  then:  "For  every  one  in  this  wretched 
business.  I  have  to." 

"Ah,"  he  sighed  out  the  satisfaction  of  his 
long  uncertainty,  "then  Cressy  is  in  it." 

"No,  I  didn't  mean  that — you  mustn't  think 
it — 1  can't  discuss  him  with  you !"  She  was  hot 
to  recapture  her  fugitive  admission. 

"Don't  let  that  disturb  you.  You  haven't 
given  him  away  to  me.  I  had  all  I'm  likely  to 
get  from  the  man  himself." 

"He— he  told  you?"  she  faltered. 

"He  told  me  nothing.  Don't  you  know  that  he 
misdoubts  me  ?  I  got  it  out  of  him,  by  sleight  of 
hand — where  we  had  met  before.  Has  he  never 
told  you  anything  of  that  morning  when  we  left 
your  house  together?" 

"Never."  The  admission  cost  her  an  effort. 
312 


THE     DEMIGOD 

He  mused  at  her.  "As  I  said,  he  told  me  noth 
ing,  but  it  occurred  to  me  when  he  came  in  that 
we  might  be  there  on  the  same  errand." 

She  paled.    "You  mean — ?" 

"I  mean  I  thought  it  might  be  safer  all  around 
that  you  should  not  see  him  that  morning;  so  I 
got  him  away.  He  hasn't  asked  you  for  it 
since?" 

"The  sapphire?"  she  faltered.  "No!"  The 
more  her  instinct  warned  that  it  had  been  the 
jewel  Harry  had  returned  for,  the  more  she  re 
pudiated  the  idea  to  Kerr. 

"Why  should  you  think  he  came  for  that? 
What  has  he  to  do  with  it?"  she  murmured. 

"My  God!  how  you  do  champion  him!"  He 
leaned  forward  sharply  across  the  table.  "What 
is  this  man  to  you?" 

He  was  going  too  far.  He  had  no  right  to 
that  question.  "The  man  I  have  promised  to 
marry."  Her  hot  look,  her  cold  manner  defied 
him  to  command  her  here.  Yet  for  a  moment, 
leaning  forward  with  his  clenched  hands  on  the 
table,  he  looked  ready  to  spring  up  and  force  her 
313 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

words  back  on  her.  The  next  he  let  it  go  and 
dropped  back  in  his  chair  again. 

"Quite  so,"  he  said.  "But  I  didn't  believe  it." 
He  stared  at  her  with  a  dull,  profound  resent 
ment.  "Yet  it's  most  possible;  since  it  isn't  the 
sapphire  it  would  be  that."  He  mused.  "But, 
you  extraordinary  woman,  why  on  earth — "  he 
broke  off,  still  looking  at  her,  looking  with  a 
persistent,  sharp,  studying  eye,  as  if  she  were 
the  most  puzzling  and,  it  came  to  her  gradually, 
the  most  dubious  thing  on  earth.  He  was  verily 
a  magician,  a  worker  of  black  magic ;  for  under 
the  spell  of  his  eyes  she  felt  herself  turning  into 
something  horrible.  However  innocent  she  was 
in  intention,  the  ugly  appearance  was  covering 
her. 

"Then  what  are  you  doing  here  with  the  ring 
ori  you?"  he  demanded  solemnly.  "Why  are  you 
dealing  with  me?  What  do  you  think  you'll  get 
out  of  it  ?  Good  God !  women  are  hideous !  How 
can  you  betray  the  man  you  love  ?" 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  with  a  wail  of  horror.  She 
stood  up  trembling  and  pale.  "I  don't — I  don't 
314 


THE     DEMIGOD 

— I  don't !  I've  kept  it  from  them.  I'm  standing 
against  them  all.  I  shall  never  give  it  to  them. 
When  have  I  ever  betrayed  you?" 

He  drew  back,  away  from  her,  as  if  to  ward 
off  her  meaning,  but  she  leaned  toward  him,  her 
hands  flung  out,  holding  herself  up  to  him  for 
all  she  meant.  He  got  up  slowly  and  the  creep 
ing  tide  of  red,  dusky  and  violent,  rising  over 
his  face,  swelling  his  features,  darkening  his 
eyes,  hung  before  her  like  a  banner  of  shame. 

"I  didn't  know,  I  didn't  know,"  he  repeated 
in  a  low  voice.  His  eyes  were  on  the  ground. 
Then,  with  a  sharp  motion,  as  if  merely  stand 
ing  in  front  of  her  was  unendurable,  "Oh, 
Lord!"  he  said,  and,  turning,  walked  from  her 
toward  the  window.  He  went  precipitately,  as 
if  he  meant  to  go  through  it,  but  he  only  leaned 
against  it  and  stood  motionless;  and  from  her 
side  of  the  table,  trembling,  breathless,  she 
watched  his  stricken  silhouette  black  upon  the 
gray,  fading  light. 

The  knowledge  of  how  far  she  had  gone,  of 
how  much  she  had  betrayed  herself,  swelled  and 
315 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

swelled  before  her  mind  until  it  seemed  to  fill  her 
life,  but  she  looked  at  it  hardily  and  unabashed. 
All  the  decencies  in  the  world  should  sink  before 
he  thought  her  a  traitor.  She  came  softly  up  be 
side  him. 

"Don't  be  sorry  for  what  I  told  you." 

"I'm  not,"  he  said.  His  voice  sounded  muffled. 
He  did  not  look  at  her,  only  held  out  his  arm  in 
a  mute  sign  to  her  to  come.  She  felt  it  around 
her,  but  it  was  a  mere  symbol  of  protection.  It 
lay  limp  on  her  shoulder,  and  he  continued  to 
stare  through  the  window  at  the  street.  "I'm 
not  sorry  for  what  you  said,"  he  repeated  slowly. 
"I'm  glad ;  but,  child,  I  wish  it  wasn't  true." 

"Don't,  don't!"  she  besought  him,  "for  I 
don't." 

He  gave  her  a  look.  "That's  beautiful  of  you, 
but" — and  he  turned  to  the  window  again  and 
spoke  to  himself — "it  puts  an  awful  face  on  my 
business.  All  along  you've  made  me  think  for 
you,  and  of  you,  more  than  you  deserve,  more 
than  I  can  afford."  The  stare  she  gave  this 
forced  cut  of  him  a  reluctant  smile.  "Why, 
316 


THE     DEMIGOD 

didn't  you  know  it?  Do  you  think  I  couldn't 
have  had  the  sapphire  that  first  night  I  saw  it 
on  your  hand,  if  it  hudn't  been — well,  for  the 
way  I  thought  of  you  ?  I  fancied  you  knew  that 
then."  He  made  a  restless  movement.  His  arm 
fell  from  her  shoulder.  "There's  been  only  one 
thing  to  do  from  the  first,"  he  said,  "and  I  don't 
see  my  way  to  it." 

"Oh,  don't  take  it!  Leave  it!"  she  pleaded. 
"Leave  it  with  me!  What  does  it  matter  so 
much?  A  jewel!  If  only  you  would  leave  it  and 
go  away  from  me !" 

He  whirled  on  her.  "In  Heaven's  name,  a  fine 
piece  of  logic!  Leave  the  sapphire  to  people 
who  can  make  no  better  use  of  it  than  I?  Leave 
you  to  go  on  with  this  business  and  marry  this 
Cressy?  Even  suppose  you  gave  me  the  sap 
phire,  I  couldn't  let  you  do  that !" 

"If  I  gave  you  the  sapphire,"  Flora  said, 
"oh,  he  wouldn't  marry  me  then !"  She  couldn't 
tell  how  this  had  come  to  her,  but  all  at  once  it 
was  clear,  like  a  sign  of  her  complete  failure; 
but  Kerr  only  wondered  at  her  distress. 
317 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

"Well,  if  you  don't  want  to  marry  him,  what 
do  you  care?" 

"Oh,  I  don't,  I  don't  care  for  that."  She  sank 
back  listlessly  in  her  chair  again.  She  couldn't 
explain,  but  in  her  own  mind  she  knew  that  if 
she  lost  the  sapphire  she  would  so  lose  in  her 
own  esteem ;  so  fail  at  every  point  that  counted, 
that  she  would  never  be  able  to  see  or  be  seen 
in  the  world  again  as  the  same  creature.  Even 
to  Kerr — even  to  him  to  whom  she  would  have 
yielded  she  would  have  become  a  different  thing. 
She  realized  now  she  had  staked  everything  on 
the  premise  that  she  wouldn't  have  to  yield ;  and 
now  it  began  to  appear  to  her  that  she  would. 
His  weakness  was  appearing  now  as  a  terrible 
strength,  a  strength  that  seemed  on  the  point 
of  crushing  her,  but  it  could  never  convince  her. 
That  strength  of  his  had  brought  her  here. 
Was  it  to  happen  here,  that  strange  thing  she 
had  foreseen,  the  end  of  her?  Was  it  here  she 
was  to  lose  the  sapphire,  and  him? 

She  looked  vaguely  around  the  room,  at  the 
most  impassive  aspect  of  the  place,  as  at  a  place 
318 


THE     DEMIGOD 

she  never  expected  to  leave ;  the  darkening  win 
dows,  the  fast-shut  door,  the  child  leaning  on 
the  desk,  watching  them  with  sharp,  incurious 
eyes — this  would  be  her  niche  for  ever.  She 
would  be  left  for  ever  with  the  crusts  and  the 
dregs.  And  Kerr's  figure  in  the  twilight  seemed 
each  time  it  moved  to  be  on  the  point  of  vanish 
ing  into  the  grayness.  He  moved  continually  up 
and  down  the  narrow  spaces  between  the  tables. 
He  troubled  the  dry  repose  of  the  place.  Some 
times  he  looked  at  her,  studying,  questioning, 
undecided.  Once  he  stopped,  as  if  just  there  an 
idea  had  arrested  him.  He  looked  at  her,  as  if, 
she  thought,  he  were  afraid  of  her.  Then  for 
long  moments  he  stood  looking  blankly,  steadily 
out  of  the  window.  He  did  not  approach  her. 
He  seemed  to  avoid  her,  until,  as  though  he  had 
come  at  last  to  his  decision,  he  walked  straight 
up  to  her  and  stood  above  her.  She  rose  to  meet 
him.  He  was  smiling. 

"Don't  you  know  that  you  could  easily  get 
rid  of  me  ?"  he  demanded.   "Cressy  would  be  too 
glad  to  do  it  for  you ;  and  there  are  more  ways 
319 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

than  one  that  I  could  get  the  sapphire  from 
you,  if  I  could  face  the  idea  of  it — but  really, 
really  we  care  too  much  for  each  other.  There's 
only  one  way  out  for  you  and  me  and  the  sap 
phire.  I'll  take  you  both." 

Her  clenched  hands  opened  and  fell  at  her 
sides.  A  great  wave  of  helplessness  flowed  over 
her.  Her  eyes,  her  throat  filled  up  with  a  rush 
of  blinding  tears.  She  put  out  her  hands,  trying 
to  thrust  him  off,  but  he  took  the  wrists  and  held 
them  apart,  and  held  her  a  moment  helpless 
before  him. 

"Oh,  no,"  she  whispered. 

"But  I  love  you." 

Her  head  fell  back.  She  looked  at  him  as  if  he 
had  spoken  the  incredible. 

"I  love  you,"  he  repeated,  "though  God  knows 
how  it  has  happened !" 

The  blood  rushed  to  her  heart. 

He  was  drawing  her  nearer. 

She  felt  his  breath  upon  her  face;  she  saw 
the  image  of  herself  in  his  eyes.  She  started  to 
herself  on  the  edge  of  danger,  and  made  a  strug- 
320 


gle  to  release  her  wrists.  He  let  them  go.  She 
sank  down  into  her  chair. 

"Why  not?  Why  won't  you  go  with  me?"  she 
heard  him  say  again,  still  close  beside  her. 

"I  can't,  I  can't!"  She  clung  to  the  words, 
but  for  the  moment  she  had  forgotten  her  rea 
sons.  She  had  forgotten  everything  but  the  won 
derful  fact  that  he  loved  her.  He  was  there 
within  reach,  and  she  had  only  to  stretch  out  her 
hand,  only  to  say  one  word,  and  he  would  cut 
through  the  ranks  of  her  perplexities  and  ter 
rors,  and  carry  her  away. 

"Why  not,  if  you  love  me?"  he  insisted.  "Are 
you  afraid  of  those  people?  Are  you  afraid  of 
Cressy?  He  shall  never  come  near  you." 

She  shook  her  head.  "No,  it  isn't  that." 

He  stooped  and  looked  into  her  face.  "Then 
what  keeps  you?" 

She  looked  up  slowly. 

"My  honor." 

"Your  honor!"  For  a  moment  her  answer 
seemed  to  have  him  by  surprise.  He  mused,  and 
again  it  came  dreamily  back  to  her  that  he  was 
321 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

looking  at  her  across  a  vast  difference  no  will 
of  hers  could  ever  bridge. 

"Don't  you  see  what  I  am?"  she  murmured. 
"Can't  you  imagine  where  I  stand  in  this  hideous 
business  ?  It's  my  trust.  I'm  on  their  side ;  and, 
oh,  in  spite  of  everything,  I  can't  make  myself 
believe  in  giving  it  to  you !" 

He  pondered  this  very  gravely. 

"Yes,  I  can  see  how  you  might  feel  that  way. 
But  is  the  feeling  really  yours?  Are  you  sure 
they  haven't  put  it  on  you  ?  Might  not  my  honor 
do  as  well  for  you,  if  you  were  mine  ?"  It  struck 
her  she  had  never  connected  him  with  honor,  and 
he  read  her  thought  with  a  flash  of  humor. 
"Evidently  it  hasn't  occurred  to  you  that  I  have 
an  honor." 

She  looked  at  him  sadly.  "In  spite  of  every 
thing  I'm  on  the  other  side.  I  belong  to  them." 

"You  belong  to  me."  His  hand  closed  on  hers. 
"Mine  is  the  only  honor  you  have  to  think  of. 
Can't  you  trust  that  I  am  right?  Can't  you 
see  it  through  my  eyes?  Can't  you  make  your 
self  all  mine?"  His  arm  was  around  her  now, 


THE     DEMIGOD 

holding  her  fast,  but  she  turned  her  face  away, 
and  his  kisses  fell  only  on  her  cheek  and  hair. 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "if  only  I  could!" 

"Don't  you  love  me?" 

"Oh,  yes,  but  that  makes  me  see,  all  the  more, 
the  dreadful  difference  between  us." 

"You  silly  child,  there  is  no  difference, 
really." 

"Ah,  yes,  you  know  it  as  well  as  I.  You  were 
afraid  of  it,  too.  All  that  long  time  you  were 
walking  around  you  were  wondering  whether 
you  dared  to  take  me." 

He  denied  her  steadily,  "Never!" 

She  loved  him  for  that  gallant  denial,  for  she 
knew  he  had  been  afraid,  horribly  afraid,  more 
afraid  than  she  was  now ;  but  that  strange  qual 
ity  of  his  that  gave  to  a  double  risk  a  double  zest 
had  set  him  all  the  hotter  on  this  resolution. 

He  sat  for  some  long  moments  thoughtfully 
looking  straight  before  him.  She,  glancing  at 
his  profile,  white  and  faintly  glimmering  in  the 
twilight,  thought  it  looked  sharp,  absorbed  and 
set.  She  could  see  his  great  determination  grow- 
323 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

ing  there  in  the  gloom  between  them,  looming 
and  overshadowing  them  both. 

"I  see,"  he  said  at  last.  "I'll  simply  have  to 
take  you  in  spite  of  it."  He  turned  around  to 
her,  and  reached  his  hands  down  through  the 
dusk.  She  was  being  drawn  up  into  arms  which 
she  could  not  see.  Her  hands  were  clasped 
around  a  neck,  her  cheek  was  against  a  face 
which  she  had  never  hoped  to  touch.  Her  rea 
son  and  her  fears  were  stifled  and  caught  away 
from  her  lips  with  her  breath.  She  was  giving 
up  to  her  awful  weakness.  She  was  giving  up 
to  the  power  of  love.  She  was  letting  herself 
sink  into  it  as  she  would  sink  into  deep  water. 
The  sense  of  drowning  in  this  profound,  un 
fathomable  element,  of  shutting  her  eyes  and 
opening  her  arms  to  it,  was  the  highest  she  had 
ever  touched ;  but  all  at  once  the  memory  of  what 
she  was  leaving  behind  her,  like  a  last  glimpse 
of  sky,  swept  her  with  fear.  She  made  a  des 
perate  effort  to  rescue  herself  before  the  waters 
quite  closed  over  her  head. 

She  pulled  herself  free.  Without  his  arms 
324 


around  her  for  the  first  moment  she  could  hardly 
stand.  She  took  an  uncertain  step  forward ;  then 
with  a  rush  she  reached  the  white  curtains.  They 
flapped  behind  her.  She  heard  Kerr  laugh,  a 
note,  quiet,  caressing,  almost  content.  It  came 
from  the  gloom  like  a  disembodied  voice  of  tri 
umph.  Her  rush  had  carried  her  into  the  middle 
of  the  anteroom.  At  this  last  moment  was  there 
to  be  no  miracle  to  save  her?  There  was  no 
rescue  among  these  dumb  walls  and  closed- 
up  windows.  The  purple  child  gave  her  a  sharp, 
bird-like  glance,  as  if  the  most  that  this  wild 
woman  could  want  was  "change."  Flora  looked 
behind  her  and  saw  Kerr,  who  had  put  aside  the 
curtains  and  was  standing  looking  at  her.  He 
was  bright  and  triumphant  in  that  twilight  room. 
He  was  not  afraid  of  losing  her  now.  He  knew 
in  that  one  moment  he  had  imprisoned  her  for 
ever!  She  saw  him  approaching,  but  though 
all  her  mind  and  spirit  strained  for  flight,  some 
thing  had  happened  to  her  will.  It  tottered  like 
her  knees. 

He  stooped  and  picked  up  an  artificial  rose, 
325 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

which  had  fallen  from  her  hat,  and  put  it  into 
her  hand.  A  moment,  with  his  head  bent,  he 
stood  looking  into  her  face,  but  without  touching 
her. 

"Sit  down  over  there,"  he  said,  and  pointed 
toward  a  chair  against  the  wall.  She  went 
meekly  like  a  prisoner.  He  spoke  to  the  child  in 
the  purple  apron,  who  was  still  sitting  behind 
the  desk.  He  put  some  money  on  the  cash-desk 
in  front  of  her.  It  was  gold.  It  shone  gor 
geously  in  the  dull  surrounding,  and  the  child 
pounced  upon  it,  incredulous  of  her  luck.  Then 
he  turned,  crossed  the  room,  soundlessly  opened 
the  door,  and  went  out  into  the  violet  dark  of 
the  street. 

The  child  furtively  tested  her  coin,  biting  it 
as  if  to  taste  the  glitter,  and  Flora  waited,  lost, 
given  up  by  herself,  passively  watching  for  the 
room  to  be  filled  again  with  his  presence.  He 
was  back  after  a  long  minute,  and  this  time  took 
up  his  stand  at  the  door,  where,  pushing  aside 
the  tight-drawn  curtain  a  little,  from  time  to 
time  he  looked  out  into  the  street.  Sometimes  his 
326 


THE     DEMIGOD 

eyes  followed  the  cracks  of  the  plastered  wall, 
sometimes  he  studied  the  floor  at  his  feet ;  every 
moment  she  saw  he  was  alert,  expectantly  watch 
ing  and  waiting ;  and  though  he  never  looked  at 
her  sitting  behind  him,  she  felt  his  protection 
between  her  and  the  darkening  street.  She  sat  in 
the  shadow  of  it,  feeling  it  all  around  her,  claim 
ing  her  as  it  would  claim  her  henceforth,  from 
the  world.  A  ghost  of  light  glimmered  along 
the  curtains  of  the  window,  and  stopped,  quiver 
ing,  in  the  middle  of  the  curtained  door.  Then 
he  turned  about  and  beckoned  her.  Sheer  weak 
ness  kept  her  sitting.  He  went  to  her,  took  her 
face  between  his  hands,  and  looked  into  it  long 
and  intently. 

"You  don't  want  to  go !"  The  words  fell  from 
his  lips  like  an  accusal.  His  sudden  realization 
of  what  she  felt  held  him  there  dumb  with  dis 
appointment.  "You  have  won  me,"  her  look  was 
saying,  "and  yet  I  have  immediately  become  a 
worthless  thing,  because  I  am  going ;  and  I  don't 
believe  in  going."  She  felt  she  had  failed  him — 
how  cruelly,  was  written  in  his  face.  But  it  was 
327 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

only  for  a  moment  that  she  made  him  hesitate. 
The  next  he  shook  himself  free. 

"Well,  come,"  he  said. 

She  felt  that  all  doors  would  fly  open  at  his 
bidding.  She  felt  herself  swept  powerless  at  his 
will  with  all  the  yielding  in  her  soul  that  she  had 
felt  in  her  body  when  his  arms  were  around  her. 
He  had  taken  her  by  the  hand — he  was  leading 
her  out  into  the  gusty  night,  where  all  lights 
flared — the  gas-lights  marching  up  the  street 
over  the  hill  into  the  unknown,  and  the  lights 
gleaming  at  her  like  eyes  in  the  dark  bulk  of 
the  carriage  waiting  before  the  door.  It  all 
glimmered  before  her — a  picture  she  might  never 
see  again — might  not  see  after  she  passed 
through  the  carriage  door  that  gaped  for  her. 
The  will  that  had  swept  her  out  of  the  door  was 
moving  her  beyond  her  own  will,  as  it  had  moved 
her  that  morning  in  the  garden,  beyond  all 
things  that  she  knew.  There  was  no  feeling  left 
in  her  but  the  despair  of  extreme  surrender. 

She  found  herself  in  the  carriage.  She  saw 
his  face  in  the  carriage  door  as  pale  as  anger, 
328 


THE     DEMIGOD 

yet  not  angry;  it  was  some  bigger  thing  that 
looked  at  her  from  his  eyes.  He  looked  a  long 
while,  as  if  he  bade  her  never  to  forget  this 
moment.  Then,  "I'll  give  you  twenty-four 
hours,"  he  said.  "This  man  will  take  you  home." 
He  shut  the  carriage  door — shut  it  between 
them.  Before  she  had  gathered  breath  he  had 
straightened,  fallen  back,  raised  his  hat,  and 
the  carriage  was  turning.  Flora  thrust  her  head, 
straw  hat  and  ribbons  out  of  the  window. 

"Oh,  I  love  you !"  she  called  to  him.  She  sank 
back  in  the  cushions  and  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands. 


329 


XVIII 

GOBLIN    TACTICS 

FOR  a  little  she  kept  her  face  hidden,  shut 
ting  out  the  present,  jealously  living 
with  the  wonderful  thing  that  had  hap 
pened  to  her.  It  was  as  wonderful  as  anything 
she  had  dreamed  might  come  when  she  had  writ 
ten  him  that  letter.  And  if  she  needed  any  proof 
of  his  love,  she  had  had  it  in  the  moment  when  he 
had  let  her  go.  There  he  had  transcended  her 
hope.  She  felt  lifted  up,  she  felt  triumphant, 
though  the  triumph  had  not  been  hers.  It  was  all 
his  ;  he  had  saved  her  from  her  own  weakness ;  his 
was  the  miracle.  How  he  shone  to  her!  The 
dark,  swaying  hollow  of  the  carriage  seemed  still 
full  of  his  presence,  full  of  his  hurried  whisper 
ing;  and  again  she  seemed  to  see  him  standing 
outside  the  window  in  the  deep  blue  evening  hold 
ing  out  his  hands  to  her  cry  of  "I  love  you !" 
330 


GOBLIN     TACTICS 

He  had  been  wonderful  in  a  way  she  had  not 
expected.  He  had  shown  her  so  beautifully  that 
he  could  be  reached  in  spite  of  his  obsession. 
Might  not  she  hope  to  touch  him  just  a  little 
further?  Was  there  any  height  now  that  he 
might  not  rise  to?  She  seemed  to  see  the  pos 
sible  end  of  it  all  shaping  itself  out  of  his 
magnanimity.  She  seemed  to  see  him  finally  re 
linquishing  his  passion  for  the  jewel,  and  his 
passion  for  her  for  the  sake  of  something  finer 
than  both.  She  had  seen  it  foreshadowed  in  what 
he  had  done  this  day — having  them  both  in  his 
hands,  he  had  put  them  away  from  him.  Yet  in 
that  action  she  knew  there  had  been  no  finality. 
She  had  touched  him,  but  she  had  not  convinced 
him,  and  as  long  as  he  was  unconvinced  he  would 
be  at  her  again  in  some  other  way. 

Her  hands  dropped  from  her  face,  and  she 
confronted  the  fact  drearily.  "No,"  she  thought, 
"he  never  gives  up  what  he  wants." 

She  looked  out  of  the  window.  The  flickers  of 
gas-lamps  fell  intermittently  through  it  upon 
her.  Her  queer  vehicle  was  rattling  crazily — 
331 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

jolting  as  if  every  spring  were  at  its  last  leap. 
She  was  out  of  the  quiet,  blue  street.  Mont 
gomery  Avenue,  with  its  lights,  its  glittering 
gilt  names  and  Latin  insignia,  was  traveling  by 
on  either  side  of  her.  The  voice  of  the  city  was 
growing  louder  in  her  ears,  the  crowd  on  the 
pavement  increased.  At  intervals  the  carriage 
dipped  through  glares  of  electric  lights  that  il 
luminated  its  interior  in  a  flash  broader  than  day 
— the  ragged  cushions,  the  raveled  tassels,  the 
limp-swinging  shutters,  and,  glimmering  in  the 
midst,  wild  and  disheveled,  herself  in  all  the  lit 
tle  wavy  mirrors.  She  sat  looking  out  at  the 
maze  of  moving  lights  and  figures  without  see 
ing  them,  intent  on  an  idea  that  was  growing 
clearer,  larger,  moment  by  moment  in  her  mind. 
Kerr's  appearance  in  her  garden — his  cap 
ture  of  her — had  not  been  the  fantastic  freak 
it  had  seemed.  He  had  had  his  purpose.  He  had 
taken  her  out  of  her  environment;  he  had  car 
ried  her  beyond  succor  or  menace  just  that  he 
might  carry  them  both  so  much  further  and 
faster  through  their  differences.  They  had  not 
332 


GOBLIN     TACTICS 

reached  the  point  of  agreement  yet,  but  might 
they  not  on  some  other  ground,  where  they  could 
be  unchallenged?  It  seemed  to  her  if  she  could 
only  meet  him  on  her  own  ground  for  once — 
instead  of  for  ever  on  Clara's  or  Harry's — only 
meet  him  alone,  somewhere  beyond  their  reach,  it 
might  be  accomplished,  it  might  be  brought  to 
the  end  she  so  wished.  Yet  where  to  go  to  be  rid 
of  Clara  and  Harry,  the  two  so  closely  asso 
ciated  with  every  fact  of  her  life? 

The  hack,  which  had  been  moving  along  at  a 
rapid  pace,  slowed  now  to  a  walk  among  the 
thickening  traffic,  and  from  a  mere  moving  mass 
the  crowd  appeared  as  individuals — a  stream  of 
dark  figures  and  white  faces.  Her  eyes  slipped 
from  one  to  another.  Here  one  stood  still  on  the 
lamp-lit  corner,  looking  down,  with  lips  moving 
quickly  and  silently.  It  was  strange  to  see  those 
rapid,  eager,  moving  lips  with  no  sound  from 
them  audible.  Then  her  eyes  were  startled  by 
something  familiar  in  the  figure,  though  the  di 
rect  down-glare  of  the  ball  of  light  above  him 
distorted  the  features  with  shadows.  She  pressed 
333 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

her  face  against  the  window-glass  in  palpitating 
doubt.  It  was  Harry. 

She  cowered  in  the  corner  of  the  carriage.  In 
a  moment  the  risks  of  her  situation  were  before 
her.  Had  he  seen  her?  Oh,  no,  at  least  not  yet. 
He  had  been  too  intent  on  whomever  he  was  talk 
ing  to.  She  peered  to  make  sure  that  he  was  still 
safely  on  the  street  corner.  He  was  just  op 
posite,  and  now  that  the  eddy  of  the  crowd  had 
left  a  little  clear  space  around  him  she  saw  with 
whom  he  was  talking.  It  was  a  small,  very  small, 
shabby,  nondescript  man — possibly  only  a  boy, 
so  short  he  seemed.  His  back  was  toward  her. 
His  clothes  hung  upon  him  with  an  odd  un- 
Anglo-Saxon  air.  He  was  foreign  with  a  for- 
eignness  no  country  could  explain — Italian,  Por 
tuguese,  Greek — whatever  he  was,  he  was  a 
strange  foil  to  Harry,  so  bright  and  burnished. 

The  hack  was  turning.  She  realized  with  dis 
may  that  it  was  turning  sharp  around  that  very 
corner  where  they  stood.  Suppose  Harry  should 
chance  to  glance  through  its  window  and 
see  Flora  Gilsey  sitting  trembling  within.  The 
334 


GOBLIN     TACTICS 

hack  wheezed  and  cramped,  and  all  at  once  she 
heard  it  scrape  the  curb.  Then  she  was  lost! 
She  looked  up  brave  in  her  desperation,  ready  to 
meet  Harry's  eyes.  She  saw  the  back  of  his  head. 
For  a  moment  it  loomed  directly  above  her,  then 
it  moved.  He  was  separating  from  his  com 
panion.  With  one  stride  he  vanished  out  of  the 
square  frame  of  the  window,  and  there  remained 
full  fronting  her,  staring  in  upon  her,  the  face 
of  his  companion. 

Back  flashed  to  her  memory  the  goldsmith's 
shop — dull  hues  and  odors  all  at  once — and  that 
wide  unwinking  stare  that  had  fixed  her  from 
the  other  side  of  the  counter.  The  blue-eyed 
Chinaman !  In  the  glare  of  white  light,  in  his 
terrible  clearness  and  nearness,  she  knew  him 
instantly. 

The  hack  plunged  forward,  the  face  was 
gone.  But  she  remained  nerveless,  powerless  to 
move,  frozen  in  her  stupefaction,  while  her  ve 
hicle  pursued  its  crazy  course.  It  was  clatter 
ing  up  Sutter  Street  toward  Kearney,  where  at 
this  hour  the  town  was  widest  awake,  and  the 
335 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

crowd  was  a  crowd  she  knew.  At  any  instant 
people  she  knew  might  be  going  in  and  out  of 
the  florists'  shops  and  restaurants,  or  passing 
her  in  carriages.  And  what  of  Flora  Gilsey  in 
her  morning  dress  and  garden  hat,  in  a  night- 
hawk  of  a  Telegraph  Hill  hack,  flying  through 
their  midst  like  a  mad  woman?  They  were  the 
least  of  her  fears.  She  had  forgotten  them.  The 
only  thing  that  remained  to  her  was  the  memory 
of  Harry  and  the  blue-eyed  Chinaman  together 
on  the  street  corner. 

She  had  been  given  a  glimpse  of  that  large 
scheme  that  Harry  was  carrying  forward  some 
where  out  of  her  sight — such  a  glimpse  as  Clara 
had  given  her  in  the  rifling  of  her  room,  as  Ella 
had  shown  in  her  hysterical  revelation.  Again 
she  felt  the  threat  of  these  ominous  signs  of 
danger,  as  a  lone  general  at  a  last  stand  with  his 
troops  clustered  at  his  back  sees  in  front,  and 
behind,  on  either  side  of  him,  the  glitter  of  bayo 
nets  in  the  bushes. 

She  was  in  the  midst  of  the  tangled  traffic  of 
Kearney  Street.  Swimming  lights  and  crowds 
336 


GOBLIN     TACTICS 

were  all  around  her.  She  peered  forth  cau 
tiously  upon  it.  She  saw  a  florid  face,  a  woman 
she  knew  casually — and  there  her  eyes  fastened, 
not  for  the  woman's  brilliant  presence,  but  for 
what  she  saw  directly  in  front  of  it,  thrown  into 
relief  upon  its  background — a  short  and  shabby 
figure,  foreign,  equivocal,  reticent,  the  figure  of 
a  blue-eyed  Chinaman. 

He  was  standing  still  while  the  crowd  flowed 
past  him.  This  time  he  was  alone.  He  seemed 
to  be  waiting,  yet  not  to  watch,  as  if  he  had  al 
ready  seen  what  he  was  expecting  and  knew 
that  it  must  pass  his  way.  It  was  uncanny,  his 
reappearance,  at  a  second  interval  of  her  route, 
standing  as  if  he  had  stood  there  from  the  first, 
patient,  expectant,  motionless.  It  was  worse  than 
uncanny. 

All  at  once  an  idea,  wild  and  illogical  enough, 
jumped  up  in  her  mind.  Couldn't  this  miserable 
vehicle  that  was  lumbering  like  a  disabled  bug 
move  faster  and  rattle  her  on  out  of  reach  of 
the  glare,  the  publicity,  the  threat  of  discovery, 
and,  above  all,  of  her  discomforting  notion? 
337 


THE     COAST    OF    CHANCE 

She  breathed  out  relief  as  the  carriage  dipped 
into  the  comparative  quiet  again,  and  she  felt 
herself  being  driven  on  and  up  a  gently  rising 
street  between  block-apart,  lone  gas-lamps.  She 
thrust  her  face  as  far  out  of  the  window  as  she 
dared,  looking  back  at  the  lights  and  traffic 
which  were  drifting  behind  her.  At  this  distance 
she  could  single  out  no  one  figure  from  the 
crowd,  and  no  figure  which  could  possibly  be 
that  of  the  blue-eyed  Chinaman  was  moving  up 
the  street  behind  her.  There  only  remained  a 
disquieting  memory  of  him  on  the  corner  with 
Harry.  Together  they  made  a  combination,  to 
her  mind,  threatening  to  the  man  she  loved,  for 
whom  she  so  desperately  feared. 

If  ever  she  had  felt  herself  helpless,  it  was 
in  this  moment  passing  along  the  half-lit,  half- 
empty  city  street.  By  what  she  knew,  by  what 
she  wore  around  her  neck,  she  was  separated 
from  all  peace-abiding  citizens — she  was  out 
lawed.  Every  closed  door  and  shaded  window 
(so  many  she  had  opened  or  looked  out  of!)  now 
seemed  shut  and  shaded  against  her  for  ever. 
338 


GOBLIN     TACTICS 

Night  and  the  reticent  gray  city,  averting  their 
eyes,  let  her  slip  through  unregarded. 

She  was  passing  that  section  of  large,  old- 
fashioned  mansions,  cupolaed,  towered,  indis 
tinct  at  the  top  of  their  high,  broad  steps,  or 
back  among  the  trees  of  their  gardens.  Along 
the  front  of  one  stretched  a  high  hedge  of 
laurestinas  black  as  a  ribbon  of  the  night,  ca 
pacious  of  shadows ;  and  it  seemed  to  Flora  that 
all  at  once  a  shadow  detached  itself.  She  looked 
with  a  start.  It  flashed  along  the  pavement — if 
shadow  it  were — running  head  down  with  a 
strange,  scattering  movement  of  arms  and  legs, 
yet  seeming  to  make  such  speed  that  for  a  mo 
ment  it  kept  abreast  of  the  cab.  She  could  see 
no  features,  no  lineament  of  this  strange  thing 
to  recognize,  yet  instantly  she  knew  what  it  must 
be — what  she  had  feared  and  thought  impossi 
ble.  She  thrust  her  head  far  out  and  addressed 
the  driver. 

"Go  as  fast  as  you  can,  faster!  and  I'll  give 
you  twice  what  he  gave  you."  The  words  rang 
so  wildly  to  her  own  ears  that  she  half  expected 
339 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

the  driver  to  peer  down  like  an  old  bird  of  prey 
from  his  perch  and  demand  her  reason.  But 
he  made  no  sound  or  sign.  It  may  have  been 
that  in  his  time  he  had  heard  even  wilder  re 
quests  than  hers.  He  only  sent  his  whip  crack 
ing  forward  to  the  ears  of  the  lean  horse,  and 
the  cab  began  to  rattle  like  a  mad  thing. 

Flora  leaned  back  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  The 
mere  sensation  of  being  borne  along  at  such  a 
rate,  the  sight  of  houses,  lamp-posts,  even  people 
here  and  there,  flitting  away  from  the  eye,  unable 
to  interrupt  her  course,  or  even  to  glimpse  her 
identity,  gave  her  a  feeling  of  safety.  The  more 
she  was  getting  into  the  residence  part  of  the 
city,  the  more  deserted  the  streets,  the  closer  shut 
the  windows  of  the  houses,  the  more  it  seemed  to 
her  as  if  the  night  itself  covered  and  abetted  her 
flight.  So  swiftly  she  went  it  was  only  a  wonder 
how  the  cab  held  together.  She  had  never  trav 
eled  more  rapidly  in  her  light  and  silent  car 
riage.  Now  they  whirled  the  corner  and  plunged 
at  the  steep  rise  of  a  cross  street.  Just  above, 
over  the  crown  of  the  hill,  she  saw  the  sky,  moon- 
340 


GOBLIN     TACTICS 

less,  blackish,  spattered  with  stars.  Then  against 
it  a  little  fluttering  shape  like  a  sentinel  wisp — 
the  only  living  thing  in  sight.  It  was  incredible, 
impossible,  horrible  that  he  should  be  there,  in 
front  of  her,  waiting  for  her,  who  had  driven  so 
fast — too  fast,  it  had  seemed,  for  human  foot  to 
follow.  By  what  unimaginable  route  had  he 
traveled?  She  was  ready  to  believe  he  had  flown 
over  the  housetops.  And  above  all  other  horrors, 
why  was  he  pursuing  her? 

The  carriage  was  abreast  the  Chinaman  now, 
and  immediately  he  took  up  his  trot,  for  a  little 
while  keeping  up,  dodging  along  between  light 
and  shadow,  presently  falling  behind.  At  in 
tervals  she  heard  the  patter,  patter,  patter  of 
his  footsteps  following ;  at  intervals  she  lost  the 
sound,  and  shadows  would  engulf  the  figure, 
and  she  would  wait  in  a  panic  for  its  reappear 
ance.  For  she  knew  it  was  there  somewhere,  on 
one  side  of  the  street  or  the  other.  But,  oh, 
not  to  see  it!  To  expect  at  any  moment  it 
might  start  up  again — Heaven  knew  where, 
perhaps  at  her  very  carriage  window.  Her 
841 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

unconscious  hand  was  doubled  to  a  fist  upon 
her  breast,  fast  closed  upon  the  sapphire. 

With  all  her  body  braced,  she  leaned  and 
looked  far  backward,  and  far  forward,  and  now 
for  a  long  time  saw  nothing.  The  distance  was 
empty.  The  glare  of  arc-lights  showed  her 
the  shadows  of  her  own  progress — the  shadow 
of  her  vehicle  shooting  huge  and  misshapen 
now  on  the  cobbles,  now  along  a  blank  wall, 
wheels,  body  and  driver,  all  lurching  like  one; 
now  heaped  on  each  other,  now  tenuously  drawn 
out,  now  twisting  themselves  into  shapes  the 
mind  could  not  account  for.  For  here,  whirling 
the  corner,  the  carriage  seemed  to  wave  an  arm, 
and  now  between  the  wheels,  fast  twinkling,  she 
saw  a  pair  of  legs.  She  leaned  and  looked,  so 
mesmerized  with  this  grotesque  appearance  that 
it  scarcely  troubled  her  that  all  the  way  down  the 
last  long  hill  she  knew  it  must  be  that  a  man 
was  running  at  her  wheel. 

The  warm  lights  of  her  house  were  just  be 
fore  her,  offering  succor,  stiffening  courage.  It 
would  be  but  a  dash  from  the  door  of  the  cab  to 
342 


GOBLIN     TACTICS 

her  own  door.  There  was  no  second  course,  once 
the  cab  stopped.  She  felt  that  to  lurk  in  its 
gloom  would  mean  robbery,  perhaps  death.  She 
thought  without  fear,  but  with  an  intense  cal 
culation.  Her  hand  held  the  door  at  swing  as 
the  cab  drew  up.  Before  it  should  stop  she 
must  leap.  She  gathered  her  skirts  and  sprang 
— sprang  clean  to  the  sidewalk.  The  steps  of 
her  house  rushed  by  her  in  her  upward  flight. 
Her  bell  pealed.  She  covered  her  eyes. 

For  the  moment  before  Shima  opened  the  door 
there  was  nothing  but  darkness  and  silence.  She 
had  never  been  so  glad  of  anything  in  her  life 
as  of  the  kind,  astute,  yellow  face  he  presented 
to  her  distressed  appeal. 

"Shima,"  she  panted,  "pay  the  cab;  and  if 
there's  any  one  else  there  say  that  I'll  call  the 
police — no,  no,  send  him  away."  There  was 
no  question  or  hesitation  in  Shima's  obedience. 
Through  the  glass  of  the  door  she  watched  him 
descend  upon  his  errand,  until  he  disappeared 
over  the  edge  of  the  illumination  of  the  vesti 
bule.  She  waited,  dimly  aware  of  voices  going 
343 


THE     COAST    OF    CHANCE 

on  beyond  the  curtains  of  the  drawing-room, 
but  all  her  listening  power  was  concentrated  on 
the  silence  without — a  silence  that  remained  un 
broken,  and  out  of  which  Shima  returned  with 
the  same  imperturable  countenance. 

"He  wants  ten  dollars." 

"Oh,  yes,  give  him  anything,"  Flora  gasped. 
If  that  was  all  the  Chinaman  had  followed  her 
for!  But  her  relief  was  momentary,  for  in 
stantly  Shima  was  back  again. 

"I  gave  him  ten  dollars,  the  cabman." 

Now  she  gasped  indeed.  "Oh,  the  cabman! 
But  the  other  one!"  For  an  instant  Shima 
seemed  to  hesitate;  glancing  past  her  shoulder 
as  if  there  was  something  that  he  doubted  be 
hind  her.  Then  as  she  still  hung  on  his  an 
swer  he  brought  it  out  in  a  lowered  voice. 

"Madam,  there  was  no  one  else  there." 


344 


XIX 

THE   FACE   IN   THE   GARDEN 

WITH   her   hand   at  her   distressed 
forehead  she  turned,  and  saw,  be 
tween  the  curtains  of  the  drawing- 
room,  Harry,  and  behind  him  Clara,  looking  out 
at  her  with  faces  of  amazement,  and  she  fancied, 
horror.  Harry  came  straight  for  her. 

"Why,  you  poor  child,  what's  happened  to 
you?" 

She  gave  him  a  look.  She  couldn't  forget 
their  scene  in  the  red  room,  but  the  mixture  of 
apprehension  and  real  concern  in  his  face  went 
far  toward  melting  her.  She  might  even  have 
told  him  something,  at  least  a  part  of  the  truth, 
but  for  that  other  standing  watching  her  from 
the  drawing-room  door.  With  Clara,  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  ignore  her  disordered  hair, 
345 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

her  hat  in  her  hand,  her  ruffle  torn  and  trailing 
on  the  floor. 

She  put  on  a  splendid  nonchalance,  as  if  it 
were  none  of  their  business.  "Oh,  I  am  sorry 
if  I  kept  you  waiting." 

It  was  Clara  who  spoke  to  her,  past  Harry's 
blank  astonishment.  "Why,  we  don't  mind 
waiting  a  few  moments  more  while  you  dress." 

"I  shan't  have  to  dress."  Such  a  statement 
Flora  felt  must  amaze  even  Shima,  waiting  like 
an  image  on  the  threshold  of  the  dining-room. 
But  if  these  people  were  waiting  to  be  amazed 
she  felt  herself  equal  to  amazing  them  to  the 
top  of  their  expectations. 

"Oh,  but  at  least  go  up  and  let  Marrika 
give  you  some  pins,"  Clara  protested,  hurrying 
forward  as  if  fairly  to  drive  her. 

"Thank  you,  no,  this  will  do,"  Flora  said. 
On  one  point  she  was  quite  clear.  She  wasn't 
going  to  leave  those  two  together  for  a  mo 
ment  to  discuss  her  plight ;  not  till  she  could  first 
get  at  Harry  alone.  Then  and  there  she  turned 
to  the  mirror  and  with  her  combs  began  to  catch 
346 


THE     FACE     IN     THE     GARDEN 

back  and  smooth  the  disorder  of  her  hair,  seeing 
all  the  while  Clara's  reflection  hovering  per 
turbed  and  vigilant  in  the  background  of  her 
own. 

While  her  hands  were  busy  seeming  to  ac 
commodate  Clara,  her  mind  was  marshaled  to 
Clara's  outwitting.  The  only  thing  to  do  was 
to  tell  nothing.  Let  Clara  spend  her  time  in 
guessing.  Unless  by  some  wild  chance  she  had 
seen  Kerr  in  the  garden  she  couldn't  come  near 
the  truth  of  what  had  happened.  But  what  was 
to  be  done  with  Harry?  Harry  was  too  close 
to  her  to  be  ignored.  Her  attitude  toward  him 
had  undergone  a  change.  In  the  moment  in 
the  red  room,  when  she  had  seen  him  break  the 
one  feeling  that  had  held  her  to  him,  the  feeling 
of  awe  and  respect  had  evaporated.  She  felt 
that  it  was  quite  impossible  now  for  them  to  go 
on  on  the  same  footing;  yet,  as  long  as  she 
kept  the  sapphire  she  must  somehow  manage  to 
keep  up  an  appearance  of  it.  She  must  tell 
him  something. 

At  that  dreadful  dinner,  where  she  sat  a  con- 
347 


THE     COAST    OF    CHANCE 

scious  f  rustrater  of  these  two  silent  ones,  glanc 
ing  at  Harry's  face,  she  knew  that  if  she  didn't 
attack  she  would  be  attacked  by  him.  It  was 
here  in  the  midst  of  the  noiseless  passings  of 
Shima,  watching  Harry's  suspicious  glances 
flashing  across  the  table  at  her  strange  disorder, 
that  the  idea  occurred  to  her  of  a  way  out  of 
it.  She  was  bold  enough  to  try  a  daring  thrust 
at  the  mystery.  If  ever  a  hunter  was  to  be  led 
off  on  a  false  scent,  Harry  was  that  one.  She 
was  amazed  at  the  sudden,  fearless  impulse  that 
had  sprung  up  in  her.  She  wasn't  even  afraid 
to  say  to  him  under  Clara's  nose,  "Harry,  I 
want  you  to  myself  after  dinner.  Come  up  into 
the  garden  study." 

He  was  very  willing  to  follow  her.  She 
thought  she  detected  in  his  alacrity  something 
more  than  curiosity  or  concern.  It  seemed  al 
most  as  if  Harry  was  ashamed  of  that  scene  in 
the  red  room,  and  anxious  to  make  it  up  with 
her.  He  even  tried  before  they  had  reached  the 
head  of  the  stairs.  "Oh,  Flora — I  say,  Flora, 
I—" 

348 


THE     FACE     IN     THE    GARDEN 

But  an  explanation  between  them  was  the  last 
thing  she  wanted  just  then.  She  fairly  ran, 
leaving  him  panting  in  the  wake  of  her  airy 
skirts. 

For  the  first  time  since  the  thing  began 
Clara  was  left  out  completely.  Flora  knew  she 
was  even  left  out  of  a  possibility  of  listening 
at  the  keyhole.  For  the  bright,  tight,  little 
room  into  which  Harry  followed  her  was  ap 
proached  by  a  square  entry  and  a  double  door. 
The  room  itself  overhung  the  garden  as  a  ship's 
deck  overhangs  the  sea.  Leather  books  and  long 
red  curtains  were  the  note  of  it.  She  and  Harry 
had  often  been  here  together  before.  Harry 
had  made  love  to  her  here,  and  she  had  found  it 
pleasurable  enough.  But  the  fact  that  she 
could  recall  it  now  with  distaste  made  this  fa 
miliar  surrounding  seem  strange,  and  they 
themselves  strangest  of  all. 

He  hadn't  got  his  breath.  He  had  hardly 
shut  the  door  on  them  before  she  began.  "Well, 
something  has  happened."  She  had  his  atten 
tion.  His  other  purpose  was  arrested.  "Oh, 
349 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

something  extraordinary.  I  would  have  told 
you  on  the  spot,  only  I  thought  you  would 
rather  Clara  didn't  know  it." 

"I?"  That  left  him  staring.  "What  have 
I  to  do  with  it?" 

At  this  she  gave  him  a  long  look.  "It  was 
through  you  he  ever  had  the  chance  of  seeing 
me.  I  mean  the  blue-eyed  Chinaman.  He  has 
followed  me  all*  the  evening.  He  followed  me 
here  to  the  very  door."  Flora's  array  of  facts 
fell  so  fast,  so  hard,  so  pointed,  that  for  a  mo 
ment  they  held  him  speechless  in  the  middle  of 
the  room. 

Any  fleeting  suspicion  she  might  have  had  of 
his  complicity  in  the  Chinaman's  pursuit  van 
ished.  He  showed  plain  bewilderment.  For  a  mo 
ment  he  was  more  at  sea  than  herself.  The  next 
she  saw  the  shadow  of  a  thought  so  disturbing 
that  it  sharpened  his  ruddy  face  to  harshness. 
He  stepped  toward  her.  "What  did  he  say  to 
you?"  He  loomed  directly  above  her,  threaten 
ing. 

"Nothing.  He  didn't  say  anything.  But  I 
350 


THE     FACE    IN     THE    GARDEN 

know  he  followed  me  quite  to  the  house,  for  I 
saw  his  shadow  all  the  way  down  the  hill." 

Harry  still  breathed  quickly.  "Where — how 
did  he  come  across  you?" 

She'd  been  prepared  for  that  question. 

"I  was  driving  down  Sutter  Street  and  he 
saw  me  at  the  carriage  window." 

Harry  stood  tense,  poised,  catching  every 
thing  as  she  tossed  it  off ;  then  as  if  all  at  once 
he  felt  the  full  weight  of  the  burden,  "Lord!" 
he  said,  and  let  himself  down  heavily  into  a 
chair.  It  was  plain  in  his  helpless  stare  that  he 
knew  exactly  what  it  all  meant.  Laying  her 
hands  on  the  high  chair-arms,  leaning  down  so 
that  she  could  look  into  his  face,  Flora  made 
her  thrust. 

"What  do  you  think  he  wants?"  she  gently 
asked.  It  was  as  if  she  would  coax  it  out  of  him. 
His  answer  was  correspondingly  low  and  soft. 

"It's  that  damned  ring." 

She  heard  her  secret  fear  spoken  aloud  with 
such  assurance  that  she  waited,  certain  at  the 
next  moment  Harry's  voice  would  people  the  si- 
351 


THE     COAST    OF    CHANCE 

lence  with  all  the  facts  that  had  so  far  escaped 
her.  But  when,  after  a  moment  of  looking  be 
fore  him  he  did  speak,  he  went  back  to  the  begin 
ning,  which  they  both  knew. 

"You  know  he  didn't  want  to  part  with  it  in 
the  first  place." 

"Yes,  yes ;  but  he  did,"  Flora  insisted. 

"Well,"  he  answered  quickly,  "but  that  was 
before — "  He  caught  himself  and  went  on  with 
a  scarcely  perceptible  break :  "He  may  have  had 
a  better  offer  for  it  since." 

He  couldn't  have  put  it  more  mildly,  and  yet 
that  temperate  phrase  brought  back  to  her  in 
a  flash  a  windy  night  full  of  raucous  voices  and 
the  great  figures  in  the  paper  that  had  covered 
half  a  page — the  reward  for  the  Crew  Idol. 
Could  it  be  that — that  sum  so  overwhelming  to 
human  caution  and  human  decency  which  Harry 
had  cloaked  by  his  grudging  phrase  "some  bet 
ter  offer"?  What  else  could  he  mean ?  And  what 
else  could  the  blue-eyed  Chinaman  mean  by  his 
strange  pursuit  of  her? 

"Some   one  must  have  wanted   it  awfully," 


THE    FACE    IN    THE    GARDEN 

Flora  tried  again,  keeping  step  with  his  mild  ad 
mission. 

Harry  covered  her  with  an  impressive  stare. 
"There's  something  (jueer  about  that  ring,"  he 
nodded  to  her.  He  was  going  to  tell  her  at  last ! 
She  gazed  at  him  in  expectation,  but  presently 
she  realized  that  nothing  more  was  coming.  He 
had  stopped  at  the  beginning.  She  tried  to 
urge  him  on. 

"Queer,  what  do  you  mean?"  She  was  feign 
ing  surprise. 

He  looked  at  her  cautiously.  "Why,  you 
must  have  noticed  it  yourself  when  we  were  at 
the  shop.  And  now,  to-night,  his  having  fol 
lowed  you." 

She  could  see  him  hesitate,  choosing  his 
words.  She  knew  well  enough  her  own  fear  of 
saying  too  much — but,  what  was  Harry  afraid 
of?  Did  he  suspect  her  feeling  for  Kerr?  Was 
that  why  he  was  holding  back,  leaving  out,  giv 
ing  her  the  small,  expurgated  version  of  what 
he  knew.  She  tried  again,  making  it  plainer. 

"You  think  the  ring  is  something  ha  ought 
353 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

not  to  have  had;  something  that  belongs  some 
where  else?" 

He  looked  away  from  her,  around  the  room, 
as  if  to  pick  up  his  answer  from  some  of  the 
corners.  "Well,  anyway,  it's  lucky  we  waited 
about  that  setting,"  he  said  with  quick  irrele 
vance.  "If  you're  going  to  be  annoyed  in  this 
way  you'd  better  let  me  have  it." 

Why  hadn't  she  thought  of  that!  It  was 
what  any  man  might  say,  after  hearing  such  a 
story  as  hers,  yet  it  was  the  last  thing  she  had 
thought  of,  and  the  last  thing  she  wanted. 

"Oh,  leave  it  with  me,"  she  quavered,  "at 
least  till  you're  sure !" 

"Oh,  no !"  He  gave  his  head  a  quick,  decided 
shake.  "If  something  should  come  out  you 
wouldn't  want  to  be  mixed  up  in  it." 

"Then  why  not  give  it  back  to  the  China 
man  ?"  she  tried  him. 

"Oh,  that's  ridiculous."  He  was  in  a  passion. 
His  darkening  eyes,  his  swelling  nostrils,  his 
aspect  so  out  of  proportion  to  her  mild  and  al 
most  playful  suggestion,  frightened  her.  He 
354 


THE     FACE     IN     THE     GARDEN 

saw  it  and  instantly  his  mood  dropped  to  mere 
irritation.  "Oh,  Flora,  don't  make  a  scene  about 
it.  This  thing  has  been  on  my  mind  for  days 
— the  thought  that  you  had  the  ring.  I  was 
afraid  I  had  no  business  to  let  you  have  it  in 
the  first  place,  and  what  you've  told  me  to 
night  has  clean  knocked  me  out.  I  don't  know 
what  I'm  saying.  Come,  let  me  have  it;  and  if 
there's  anything  queer  about  the  business,  at 
least  we'll  get  it  cleared  up." 

But,  smiling,  she  retreated  before  him. 

"Why,  Flora,"  he  argued,  half  laughing,  but 
still  with  that  dry  end  of  irritation  in  his  voice, 
"what  on  earth  do  you  want  to  keep  the  thing 
for?" 

By  this  time  she  backed  against  the  window, 
and  faced  him.  "Why,  it's  my  engagement 
ring." 

He  looked  at  her.  She  couldn't  tell  whether 
he  was  readiest  to  laugh  or  rage. 

"You  gave  it  to  me  for  that,"  she  pleaded. 
"Why  shouldn't  I  keep  it,  until  you  give  me  a 
real  reason  for  giving  it  up  ?  If  you  really  know 
355 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

anything,  why  (don't  you  tell  me  ?"  She  was  sure 
she  had  him  there ;  but  he  burst  out  at  last : 

"Well,  for  a  fact,  I  know  it  is  stolen!"  He 
leaned  toward  her;  and  his  arms,  still  flung 
out  with  the  hands  open  as  argument  had  left 
them,  seemed  to  her  frightened  eyes  all  ready 
for  her,  ready  with  his  last  argument,  his 
strength. 

Once  before  she  had  feared  herself  face  to 
face  with  the  same  threat  in  the  eyes  and  body  of 
another  man,  but  here,  her  only  fear  was  lest 
Harry  should  get  the  sapphire  away  from  her. 
His  doing  so  would  dash  down  no  ideal  of  him.  It 
was  mere  physical  terror  that  made  her  tremble 
and  raise  her  hand  to  her  breast.  Instantly 
she  saw  how  she  had  betrayed  the  sapphire 
again.  He  had  taken  hold  of  her  wrist,  and, 
twist  as  she  might,  he  held  it,  horribly  gentle. 

She  pressed  back  against  the  glass  until  she 
felt  it  hard  behind  her. 

"Harry,"  she  whispered,  "if  you  care  any 
thing,  if  you  ever  want  me  for  yours,  you'll 
take  your  hands  away."  She  meant  it ;  she  was 
356 


THE     FACE     IN     THE    GARDEN 

sincere  in  that  moment,  for  all  she  shrank  from 
him.  Her  body  and  mind  would  not  have  been 
too  great  a  price  to  give  him  for  the  sapphire. 

But  these  he  seemed  to  set  aside  as  trivial. 
These  he  expected  as  a  matter  of  course ;  he  was 
going  to  have  that  other  thing,  too — the  thing 
she  had  clung  to  as  a  man  clings  to  life;  and 
that  now,  parting  from,  she  would  give  up  not 
without  a  struggle  as  sharp  as  that  with  which 
the  body  gives  up  breath.  She  wrestled.  He 
seemed  all  hands.  He  put  aside  her  struggles, 
her  pleadings,  as  if  they  were  thistle-down. 

Then  all  at  once  she  felt  his  arm  around  her 
neck.  She  couldn't  move  her  body.  She  could 
only  turn  her  head  from  his  hot  breath.  For 
a  moment  he  held  her,  and  yet  another  moment ; 
and  then,  terrified  at  what  this  strange  immobil 
ity  might  mean,  she  raised  her  eyes  and  saw  he 
was  not  looking  at  her.  Though  he  held  her  fast 
he  was  not  conscious  of  her.  Straight  over  her 
head  he  looked,  through  the  window  and  down 
into  the  garden.  Her  eyes  followed.  It  lay  be 
neath,  the  wonder  of  its  morning  aspect  all 
357 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

blanched  and  dim.  She  saw  the  silhouette  of 
rose  branches  in  black  on  the  sky.  She  saw 
the  flowers  and  bushes  all  one  dull  tone.  But  in 
the  midst  of  them  the  oval  of  the  path  shone 
white ;  and  there,  as  in  the  afternoon,  standing, 
looking  upward,  was  the  dark  figure  of  a  man. 

Her  heart  gave  a  great  leap.  Just  so  she'd 
been  summoned  once  before  that  day,  but  what 
infernal  freak  had  fetched  him  back  to  repeat 
that  dangerous  sally,  and  brought  him  finally 
into  his  enemy's  grasp?  She  tried  to  make  a 
gesture  to  warn  him,  and  just  there  Harry  re 
leased  her,  dropped  her  so  that  she  half  fell 
upon  the  window-seat,  and  made  a  dash  across 
the  room  for  the  light.  In  a  moment  they  were 
in  darkness.  In  a  moment,  to  Flora  pressed 
against  the  window,  the  garden  sprang  clear, 
and  on  the  formless  figure  below  the  face  ap 
peared,  white  in  the  starlight  looking  up.  She 
cried  out  in  wonder.  It  was  not  Kerr.  It  was 
the  blue-eyed  Chinaman. 

After  her  haunted  drive,  after  her  escape, 
after  Shima's  search,  he  was  there,  still  inex- 
358 


THE     FACE     IN     THE     GARDEN 

orably  there;  small,  diminished  by  the  great 
fa£ade  of  the  house,  but  looking  up  at  it  with 
his  calm  eye,  surveying  it,  measuring  its  height, 
numbering  its  doors,  trying  its  windows.  Harry 
was  beside  her  again.  He  was  tugging  fran 
tically  at  the  window.  It  resisted.  She  saw 
his  hands  trembling  while  he  wrestled  with  it. 
Then  it  went  shrieking  up  and  he  leaned  out. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  called,  and,  though 
he  used  no  name,  Flora  saw  he  knew  with  whom 
he  was  speaking.  The  Chinaman  stood  immobile, 
lifting  his  round,  white  face,  whose  mouth  seemed 
to  gape  a  little.  Harry  leaned  far  out  and  low 
ered  his  voice. 

"Go  away,  Joe!  Don't  come  here;  never 
come  here!"  There  was  a  quiver  in  his  voice. 
Anger  or  apprehension,  or  both,  whatever  his 
passion  was,  for  the  moment  it  overwhelmed 
him,  and  as  the  Chinaman  stood  unmoved,  un- 
moving,  at  his  commands,  Harry  turned  sharp 
from  the  window  and  dashed  out  of  the  room. 
Flora  heard  him  running,  running  down  the 
stairs.  She  hung  there  breathless,  waiting  to 
359 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

see  him  meet  the  motionless  figure;  but  while 
she  looked  and  waited  that  motionless  figure 
suddenly  took  life.  It  moved,  it  turned,  it  flit 
ted,  it  mixed  with  shadows,  became  a  shadow; 
and  then  there  was  nothing  there. 

Nothing  was  there  when  Harry  burst  out  of 
the  garden  door  and  stood  staring  in  the  empty 
oval.  How  distracted,  how  violent  he  looked, 
balked  of  his  prey!  He  was  stalking  the  gar 
den,  beating  the  bushes,  walking  up  and  down. 
All  at  once  he  stopped  and  raised  a  white  baf 
fled  face  to  her  window.  She  shrank  away. 
She  was  in  peril  of  Harry  now.  He  knew  her 
no  longer  innocent.  She  had  held  the  ring 
against  him  in  the  face  of  the  fact  he  had  told 
her  it  was  stolen.  And  he  must  guess  her  mo 
tive.  He  must  suspect  her  now. 

In  her  turn  she  ran,  up  and  up  a  twisted 
side  stair,  shortest  passage  to  her  own  rooms. 
At  least  lock  and  key  could  keep  her  safe  for 
the  next  few  hours.  After  that  she  must  think 
of  something  else. 

360 


XX 

FLIGHT 

BY  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  she  was 
already  moving  softly  to  and  fro,  so 
softly  as  not  to  rouse  the  sleeping 
Marrika.  By  seven  her  lightest  bag  was 
packed,  herself  was  bathed,  brushed,  dressed 
even  to  hat  and  gloves,  and  standing  at  her 
window  with  all  the  listening  alert  look  of  one 
in  a  waiting-room  expecting  a  train.  She  was 
watching  for  the  city  to  begin  to  stir;  watch 
ing  for  enough  traffic  below  in  the  streets  to 
make  her  own  movement  there  not  too  notice 
able.  Yet  every  moment  she  waited  she  was 
in  terror  lest  her  fate  should  take  violent  form 
at  last  and  assail  her  in  the  moment  of  escape. 
She  listened  for  a  foot  ascending  to  her  room 
with  a  message  from  Clara  demanding  an  au- 
361 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

dience.  She  listened  for  the  peal  of  the  elec 
tric  bell  under  Harry's  hasty  hand — Harry,  ar 
rived  even  at  this  unwarranted  hour  with 
Heaven  knew  what  representative  of  law  to 
force  the  sapphire  from  her. 

But  all  her  household  was  still  unstirring 
when  at  last  she  went,  soft  step  after  step,  down 
the  broad  and  polished  stair  and  across  the 
empty  hall.  She  went  quiet,  direct,  determined, 
not  at  all  as  she  had  fled  on  her  other  perilous 
enterprise  only  yesterday.  She  shut  the  outer 
door  after  her  without  a  sound  and  with  great 
relief  breathed  in  the  fresh  and  faintly  smoky 
air  of  morning. 

She  walked  quickly.  The  windows  of  her 
house  still  overlooked  her,  and  her  greatest  ter 
ror  was  that  some  voice,  some  appearance,  out 
of  that  house,  might  command  her  return.  The 
street  was  nearly  empty.  A  maid  scrubbing 
down  steps  looked  after  her  sharply,  and  she 
wondered  if  she  had  been  recognized.  She  had 
no  intention  of  keeping  to  this  street,  or  even 
taking  a  car  and  traveling  down  its  broad,  gray 
362 


FLIGHT 

and  gleaming  vista  of  formal  houses  and  formal 
gardens  that  she  knew  and  that  knew  her  so 
well.  It  was  a  cross-town  car  bound  for  quite 
another  locality  that  she  climbed  aboard.  It 
was  filled  only  with  mechanics  and  workmen  with 
picks  and  shovels.  She  sat  crowded  elbow  to 
elbow  among  odors  of  stale  tobacco,  stale  garlic, 
stale  perspiration,  and  looking  straight  before 
her  through  the  car  window  watched  the  aspect 
of  the  city,  still  gray,  grow  less  gleaming  and 
formal  and  finally  quite  dirty,  and  quite,  quite 
dull. 

This  was  all  as  she  had  intended,  very  much 
in  the  direction  of  her  errand,  and  safe.  But  in 
Market  Street  the  car-line  ended,  and  she  was 
turned  out  again  in  this  broad  artery  of  com 
merce  where  she  was  in  danger  of  meeting  at 
any  moment  people  she  knew.  She  made  straight 
across  the  thoroughfare  to  its  south  side,  turned 
down  Eighteenth  and  in  a  moment  was  hidden  in 
Mission  Street. 

Now  really  the  worst  danger  of  detection 
was  over.  She  saw  no  reason  why  a  woman  with 
363 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

a  small  hat  and  a  hand-bag  should  not  pass  for 
a  school-teacher.  Indeed,  the  men  did  let  her 
go  at  that,  but  the  women — women  with  shawls 
over  their  heads,  and  women  with  uncovered 
heads  and  ear-rings  in  their  ears,  and  thin, 
weak-eyed  women  with  bags  in  their  hands — the 
teachers  themselves,  one  of  whom  she  hoped  to 
pass  for — all  stared  at  her.  It  didn't  matter 
much,  she  thought,  whether  they  thought  her 
queer  or  not  since  they  couldn't  stop  her. 

She  went,  glancing  at  windows  as  she  passed, 
looking  for  a  place  where  she  could  go  to  break 
fast.  She  turned  into  the  first  restaurant  that 
offered,  and  after  a  hasty  glance  around  it  to 
be  sure  no  one  lurked  there  that  might  betray 
her  she  subsided  into  the  clatter  with  relief.  It 
was  one  more  place  to  let  time  pass  in,  for  it 
would  be  full  two  hours  before  she  could  fulfil 
her  errand.  She  stayed  as  long  as  she  dared, 
drinking  two  cups  of  the  hideous  coffee ;  stayed 
while  many  came  and  went,  until  she  felt  the 
proprietor  noticing  her.  That  revived  her  con 
sciousness  of  the  possible  dangers  still  between 
364 


FLIGHT 

her  and  the  end  she  held  in  view.  She  had  heard 
of  people  being  arrested  for  suspicious  conduct. 
She  didn't  feel  sure  in  what  this  might  consist, 
but  surely  such  an  appearance  could  be  avoided 
by  walking  fast  and  seeming  to  know  exactly 
where  one  was  going. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  three  hours 
since  she  had  left  her  house  and  a  most  reason 
able  time  of  daylight,  when  Flora  turned  out  of 
the  flatness  of  "south  of  Market  Street"  and 
began  to  mount  a  slow-rising  hill.  It  was  a 
wooden  sidewalk  she  followed  flanking  a  wood- 
paved  street,  and  these,  with  the  wooden  fences 
and  dusty  cypress  hedges  and  the  houses  peer 
ing  over  them  upon  her  looked  worn,  battered 
and  belonging  all  to  the  past.  None  the  less 
it  bore  traces  of  having  been  a  dignified  past, 
and  farther  up  on  the  crown  of  the  hill  among 
deep-bosomed  trees,  two  or  three  large  mansions 
wore  the  gravely  triumphant  aspect  of  having 
been  brought  successfully  from  a  past  empire 
into  a  present  with  all  their  traditions  and  ma 
hogany  complete.  Upward  toward  these  Flora 
365 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

was  looking.  Her  breath  was  short  from  fast 
climbing.  Her  cheeks  under  her  thin  veil  were 
hot  and  bright. 

As  she  neared  the  hilltop  she  glanced  at  a 
card  from  her  chatelaine,  consulting  the  ad 
dress  upon  it.  Then  anxiously  she  scanned  the 
house-fronts.  It  was  not  this  one,  nor  this; 
but  the  square  white  mansion  she  came  to  now 
stood  so  far  retired  at  the  end  of  its  lawn  that 
she  could  not  make  out  the  number.  As  she 
peered  a  young  girl  came  down  the  steps  be 
tween  the  dark  wings  of  the  cypress  hedge,  a 
slim,  fair,  even-gaited  creature  dressed  for  the 
street  and  drawing  on  her  gloves.  As  she 
passed  Flora  made  sure  she  had  seen  her  before. 
There  was  something  familiar  in  the  carriage 
of  the  girl's  head  and  hands ;  something  also 
like  a  pale  reflection  of  another  presence.  Pale 
as  it  was,  it  was  enough  to  reassure  her  that 
this  was  the  house  she  wanted. 

She  ascended  the  steps  beneath  the  arch  of 
cypress  and  immediately  found  herself  entering 
an  atmosphere  quieter  even  than  that  of  the  little 
366 


FLIGHT 

street  below.  It  was  quiet  with  the  quiet  of  pro- 
tectedness,  as  if  some  one  brooding,  vigilant  care 
encircled  it,  defending  it  against  all  inroads  of 
violent  action  and  thought.  It  had  been  long 
since  any  young  girl  had  carried  such  a  heart  of 
passionate  hopes  and  fears  up  this  mossed  path 
between  these  peaceful  flower-beds. 

This  appearance  of  the  place  began  to  bring 
before  Flora  the  full  enormity  and  impertinence 
of  her  errand,  but  though  her  heart  beat  on  her 
side  as  loud  as  the  brass  knocker  upon  the  door, 
she  had  no  mind  for  turning  back. 

A  high,  cool,  darkly  gleaming  interior,  mel 
low  with  that  precious  tint  of  time  which  her 
own  house  so  lacked,  received  her.  And  here,  as 
well  as  out  of  doors,  all  the  while  she  sat  wait 
ing  she  felt  that  protected  peace  was  still  the 
deity  of  the  place.  To  Flora's  eager  heart  time 
was  streaming  by,  but  the  tall  clock  facing  her 
measured  it  out  slowly.  Its  longest  golden  fin 
ger  had  pointed  out  five  minutes  before  the 
sweeping  of  a  skirt  coming  down  the  hall 
brought  her  to  her  feet. 
367 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

Mrs.  Herrick  came  in  hatless,  a  honeysuckle 
leaf  caught  in  her  gray  crown  of  hair,  gera 
niums  in  her  hand.  Flora  had  never  seen  her  so 
informal  and  so  gay. 

"I  would  have  asked  you  to  come  out  into  the 
garden,  except  that  it's  so  wet,  and  there's  no 
place  to  sit,"  she  said. 

Flora  apologized.  "I  knew  if  I  came  at  this 
hour  I  should  interrupt  you,  but  really  there  was 
no  help  for  it."  She  glanced  down  at  her  satchel. 
"I  had  to  go  this  morning,  and  before  I  went  I 
had  to  see  you  about  the  house.  I'm  going  down 
to  look  at  it  and — and  to  stop  a  while." 

Mrs.  Herrick  hesitated,  deprecated.  "But 
you  know  Mrs.  Britton  wasn't  satisfied  with  the 
price  I  asked." 

"Oh,"  said  Flora  promptly,  "but  I  shall  be 
perfectly  satisfied  with  it,  and  I  want  to  take 
possession  at  once." 

The   positive    manner    in    which    she    waved 

Clara  out  of  her  way  brought  up  in  Mrs.  Her- 

rick's  face  a  faint  flash  of  surprise;  but  it  was 

gone  in  an  instant,  supplanted  by  her  question- 

368 


FLIGHT 

ing  puzzled  consideration  of  the  main  proposi 
tion. 

"Oh,  I  hope  you  haven't  come  to  tell  me  you 
want  it  changed,"  she  protested.  "You  know 
it's  quite  absurd  in  places — quite  terrible  in 
deed.  It's  1870  straight  through,  and  French 
at  that;  but  even  such  whims  acquire  a  dignity 
if  they've  been  long  cherished.  You  couldn't 
put  in  or  take  out  one  thing  without  spoiling 
the  whole  character." 

"But  I  don't  want  to  change  it,  I  want  it 
just  as  it  is,"  Flora  explained.  "It  isn't  about 
the  house  itself  I've  come,  it's  about  going  down 
there.  You  see  there  are — some  people,  some 
friends  of  mine.  I  haven't  promised  them  to 
show  the  house,  but  I  have  quite  promised  my 
self  to  show  it  to  them,  and  they  are  only  here 
for  a  few  days  more.  They  are  going  imme 
diately."  She  was  looking  at  Mrs.  Herrick  all 
the  while  she  was  telling  her  wretched  lie,  and 
now  she  even  managed  to  smile  at  her.  "I 
thought  how  lovely  it  would  be  if  you  could  go 
there  with  me.  I  should  like  so  very  much  to  be  in 
369 


THE     COAST    OF    CHANCE 

it  first  with  you,  to  have  you  go  over  it  with  me 
and  tell  me  how  to  take  care  of  it,  as  it's  al 
ways  been  done.  I  should  hate  to  do  it  any  dis 
respect." 

Her  hostess  smiled  with  ready  answer.  "Of 
course  I  will  go  down.  I  should  be  glad,  but 
it  must  be  in  a  day  or  two.  Indeed,  perhaps  it 
would  be  better  for  you  to  have  your  people 
first,  and  I  can  come  down,  say  Monday  after 
noon  or  Tuesday." 

Flora  faced  this  unexpected  turn  of  the  mat 
ter  a  little  blankly.  "Ah,  but  the  trouble  is  I 
can't  go  down  alone." 

It  was  Mrs.  Herrick's  turn  to  look  blank.  "But 
Mrs.  Britton?" 

"Mrs.  Britton  isn't  going  with  me;  she 
can't." 

"I  see."  Mrs.  Herrick  with  a  long,  soft 
scrutiny  seemed  to  be  taking  in  more  than 
Flora's  mere  words  represented.  "And  you 
wouldn't  put  it  off  until  she  can?" 

"I  couldn't  put  it  off  a  moment,"  Flora  ended 
with  a  little  breathless  laugh.  "I  do  so  wish 
370 


FLIGHT 

you  would  come  down  with  me  this  morning,  for 
I  must  go,  and  you  see  I  can't  go  alone." 

Mrs.  Herrick,  sitting  there,  composed,  in  her 
cool,  flowing,  white  and  violet  gown  with  the  red 
flowers  in  her  lap,  still  looked  at  Flora  inquir 
ingly.  "But  aren't  there  some  women  in  your 
party  old  enough  to  make  it  possible  and 
young  enough  to  take  pleasure  in  it?" 

Flora  shook  her  head.  "Oh,  no,"  she  said. 
Her  house  of  cards  was  tottering.  She  could 
not  keep  up  her  brave  smiling.  She  knew  her 
distress  must  be  plain.  Indeed,  as  she  looked  at 
Mrs.  Herrick  she  saw  the  effect  of  it.  Gaiety 
still  looked  at  her  out  of  that  face,  but  the 
warmth,  the  spontaneity  were  gone;  and  the 
steady  eyes,  if  anything  so  aloof  could  be  sus 
picious,  surely  suspected  her. 

Her  heart  sank.  If  only  she  had  told  the 
truth — even  so  much  of  it  as  to  say  there  was 
something  she  could  not  tell.  What  she  had 
said  was  unworthy  not  only  of  herself  but  of 
the  end  she  was  so  desperately  holding  out  for. 
Now  in  the  lucid  gaze  confronting  her  she  knew 
371 


THE     COAST    OF    CHANCE 

all  her  intentions  were  taking  on  a  dubious  color, 
stained  false,  like  her  words,  under  the  dark 
cloud  of  her  own  misrepresentation.  Yet  they 
were  not  false,  she  knew.  Her  motives,  the  end 
she  was  struggling  for,  were  as  austere  as  truth 
itself.  She  could  not  give  up  without  one  bold 
stroke  to  clear  them  of  this  accusation. 

"Do  you  think  there's  anything  queer  about 
it?"  she  faltered. 

"Queer?"  To  Flora's  ears  that  sounded  the 
coldest  word  she  had  ever  heard.  "I  hardly 
think  I  understand  what  you  mean." 

"I  mean  is  it  that  you  think  there's  more  in 
what  I'm  asking  of  you  than  I  have  said?"  The 
two  looked  at  each  other  and  before  that  flat 
question  Mrs.  Herrick  drew  back  a  little  in  her 
chair. 

"I  have  no  right  to  think  about  it  at  all,"  she 
said. 

"Well,  there  is,"  Flora  insisted.  "There's  a 
great  deal  more.  I  am  sorry.  I  should  have 
told  you,  but  I  was  afraid.  I  don't  know  why 
372 


FLIGHT 

I  was  afraid  of  you,  except  that  in  this  matter 
I've  grown  afraid  of  every  one.  It's  true  that 
there  may  be  people  going  down — at  least,  a 
person.  But  it  isn't,  as  I  let  you  think  it,  a 
house  party  at  all.  It's  for  something,  some 
thing  that  I  can't  do  any  other  way — some 
thing,"  she  had  a  sudden  flash  of  insight,  "that, 
if  I  could  tell  you,  you  would  believe  in,  too." 

Mrs.  Herrick's  look  had  faded  to  a  mere  con 
centrated  attention.  "You  mean  that  there  is 
something  you  wish  to  do  for  whoever  is>  going 
down  ?" 

"Oh,  something  I  must  do,"  Flora  insisted.- 

Mrs.  Herrick  considered  a  moment.  "Why 
can't  he  do  it  for  himself?"  she  threw  out  sud 
denly. 

It  made  Flora  start,  but  she  met  it  gallantly. 
"Because  he  won't.  I  shall  have  to  make  him." 

"You!"     For  a  moment  Flora  knew  that  she 

was  preposterous  in  Mrs.  Herrick's;  eyes — and 

then  that  she  was  pathetic.      Her     companion 

was  looking  at  her  with  a  sad  sort  of  humor. 

373 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

"My  dear,  are  you  sure  that  that  is  your  re 
sponsibility  ?" 

Flora's  answering  smile  was  faint.  "It  seems 
as  strange  to  me  as  it  seems  absurd  to  you,  but 
I  think  I  have  done  something  already." 

"Are  you  sure,  or  has  he  only  let  you  think 
so?  We  have  all  at  some  time  longed,  or  even 
thought  it  was  our  duty,  to  adjust  something 
when  it  would  have  been  safer  to  have  kept  our 
hand  off,"  Mrs.  Herrick  went  on  gently. 

"Oh,  safer,"  Flora  breathed.  "Oh,  yes;  in 
deed,  I  know.  But  if  something  had  been  put 
into  your  hands  without  your  choice ;  if  all  the 
life  of  some  one  that  you  cared  about  depended 
on  you,  would  you  think  of  being  safe?"  Flora, 
leaning  forward,  chin  in  hand,  with  shining 
eyes,  seemed  fairly  to  impart  a  reflection  of  her 
own  passionate  concentration  to  the  woman  be 
fore  her. 

Mrs.  Herrick,  so  calm  in  her  reposeful  atti 
tude,  calm  as  the  old  portrait  on  the  wall  be 
hind  her,  none  the  less  began  to  show  a  curious 
sparkle  of  excitement  in  her  face.  "If  I  were 
374. 


FLIGHT 

sure  that  person's  life  did  depend  on  me,"  she 
measured  out  her  words  deliberately.  "But  that 
so  seldom  happens,  and  it  is  so  hard  to  tell." 

"But  if  you  were  sure,  sure,  sure!"  Flora 
rang  it  out  certainly. 

Mrs.  Herrick  in  her  turn  leaned  forward. 
"Ah,  even  then  it  would  depend  on  him.  And 
do  you  think  you  can  make  a  man  do  otherwise 
than  his  nature?" 

"You  think  I  should  fail?"  Flora  took  it  up 
fearlessly.  "Well,  if  I  do,  at  least  I  shall  have 
done  my  best.  I  shall  have  to  have  done  my  best 
or  I  can  never  forgive  myself." 

"I  see,"  Mrs.  Herrick  sighed.  "But  it  sounds 
to  me  a  risk  too  great  for  any  reward  that 
could  come  of  its  success."  She  thought.  "If 
you  could  tell  me  more."  Then,  as  Flora  only 
looked  at  her  wistfully  and  silently :  "Isn't  there 
some  one  you  can  confide  in?  Not  Mrs.  Brit- 
ton?" 

"Clara?  Oh,  no;  never!"  Flora  startled 
Mrs.  Herrick  with  the  passionate  repudiation. 

"But  could  not  Mr.  Cressy — "  and  with  that 
375 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

broken  sentence  several  things  that  Mrs.  Her- 
rick  had  been  keeping  back  looked  out  of  her 
face. 

Flora  answered  with  a  stare  of  misery.  "I 
know  what  you  must  be  thinking — what  you  can 
not  help  thinking,"  she  said,  "that  the  whole 
thing  is  unheard-of — outrageous — especially 
for  a  girl  so  soon  to — to  be — "  She  caught  her 
breath  with  a  sob,  for  the  words  she  could  not 
speak.  "But  there  is  nothing  in  this  disloyal  to 
my  engagement,  even  though  I  can  not  speak 
of  it  to  Harry  Cressy;  and  nothing  I  hope  to 
gain  for  myself  by  what  I  am  trying  to  do.  If 
I  succeed  it  will  only  mean  I  shall  never  see  him 
— the  other  one — again." 

Mrs.  Herrick  rose,  in  her  turn  beseeching. 
"Oh,  I  can't  help  you  go  into  it !  It  is  too  du 
bious.  My  dear,  I  know  so  much  better  than 
you  what  the  end  may  mean." 

"I  know  what  the  end  may  mean,  and  I  can't 
keep  out  of  it." 

"But  I  can  not  go  with  you."     There  was  a 
stern  note  in  Mrs.  Herrick's  voice. 
376 


FLIGHT 

Flora  looked  around  the  room,  the  sunny  win 
dows,  the  still  shadows,  the  tall,  monotonous 
clock,  as  if  this  were  the  last  glimpse  of  peace 
and  protection  she  would  ever  have.  She  rose 
and  put  out  her  hand. 

"I'm  afraid  I  didn't  quite  realize  how  much 
I  was  asking  of  you.  You  have  been  very  good 
even  to  listen  to  me.  It's  right,  I  suppose,  that 
I  should  go  alone." 

Mrs.  Herrick  looked  at  her  in  dismay.  "But 
that  is  impossible!"  Then,  as  Flora  turned 
away,  she  kept  her  hand.  "Think,  think,"  she 
urged,  "how  you  will  be  misunderstood." 

"Oh,  I  shall  have  to  bear  that — from  the  peo 
ple  who  don't  know." 

"Yes,  and  even  from  the  one  for  whom  you 
are  spending  yourself!" 

Flora  gave  her  head  a  quick  shake.  "He  un 
derstands,"  she  said. 

"My  dear,  he  is  not  worth  it." 

Flora  turned  on  her  with  anger.  "You  don't 
know  what  he  is  worth  to  me !" 

Mrs.  Herrick  looked  steadily  at  this  unan- 
377 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

swerable  argument.  Her  hold  on  Flora's  hand 
relaxed,  but  she  did  not  quite  release  it.  Her 
brows  drew  together.  "You  are  quite  sure  you 
must  go?" 

Flora  nodded.    She  was  speechless. 

"Did  Mrs.  Britton  know  you  were  coming 
to  me?" 

"No.  She  doesn't  even  know  that  I  am  go 
ing  out  of  town.  She  must  not,"  Flora  pro 
tested. 

"Indeed  she  must.  You  must  not  place  your 
self  in  such  a  false  position.  Write  her  and 
tell  her  you  are  going  to  San  Mateo  with  me." 

"Oh,  if  you  would!"  Tears  sprang  to  Flora's 
eyes.  "But  will  you,  even  if  I  can't  tell  you 
anything?" 

"I  shall  not  ask  you  anything.  Now  write 
her  immediately.  You  can  do  it  here  while  I 
am  getting  ready." 

She  had  taken  authoritative  command  of  the 

details  of  their  expedition,  and  Flora  willingly 

obeyed  her.     She  was  still  trembling  from  the 

stress  of  their  interview,  and  she  blinked  back 

378 


FLIGHT 

tears  before  she  was  able  to  see  what  she  was 
writing. 

It  had  all  been  brought  about  more  quickly 
and  completely  than  she  had  hoped,  but  it  was 
in  her  mind  all  the  while  she  indited  her  mes 
sage  to  Clara,  that  Kerr,  for  whom  it  had  been 
accomplished,  was  not  yet  informed  of  the  ex 
istence  of  the  scheme,  or  the  part  of  guest  he 
was  to  play.  Yet  she  was  sure  that  if  she  asked 
he  would  be  promptly  there.  She  wrote  to  him 
briefly : 

At  San  Mateo,  at  the  Herricks'.    I  want  you  there  to 
night.    I  have  made  up  my  mind. 

As  she  was  sealing  it  she  started  at  a  step  ap 
proaching  in  the  hall.  She  had  wanted  to  con 
ceal  that  betraying  letter  before  Mrs.  Herrick 
came  back.  She  glanced  quickly  behind  her, 
and  saw  standing  between  the  half-open  folding 
doors,  the  slim  figure  of  a  girl — slimmer, 
younger  even  than  the  one  who  had  passed  her 
at  the  gate,  but  like  her,  with  the  same  large 
eyes,  the  same  small  indeterminate  chin.  Just 
at  the  chin  the  likeness  to  Mrs.  Herrick  failed 
379 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

with  the  strength  of  her  last  generation — but 
the  eyes  were  perfect ;  and  they  gazed  at  Flora 
wondering.  With  the  sixth  sense  of  youth  they 
recognized  the  enactment  of  something  strange 
and  thrilling. 

Another  instant  and  Mrs.  Herrick's  presence 
dawned  behind  her  daughter — and  her  voice — 
"Why,  child,  what  are  you  doing  there?" — and 
her  hands  seemed  apprehensive  in  their  haste 
to  hurry  the  child  away,  as  if,  truly,  in  this 
drawing-room,  for  the  first  time,  something  was 
dangerous. 


380 


XXI 


THE  day  which  had  dawned  so  still  and 
gloomy  was  wakening  to  something 
like  wildness,  threatening,  brighten 
ing,  gusty,  when  they  stepped  out  of  the  train 
upon  the  platform  of  the  San  Mateo  station. 
Clouds  were  piling  gray  and  castle-like  from 
the  east  up  toward  the  zenith,  and  dark  frag 
ments  kept  tearing  off  the  edges  and  spinning 
away  across  the  sky.  But  between  them  the 
bright  face  of  the  sun  flashed  out  with  double 
splendor,  and  the  thinned  atmosphere  made  the 
sky  seem  high  and  far,  and  all  form  beneath  it 
clarified  and  intense. 

There  upon  the  narrow  platform  Mrs.  Her- 
rick  hesitated    a    moment,    looking    at    Flora. 
"What  train  do  you  want  to  meet  ?"  she  asked. 
381 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

Flora  stood  perplexed.  "I  hardly  know.  You 
see  I  can't  tell  how  soon  my  letter  would  reach 
— would  be  received." 

"Then  we  would  better  meet  them  all,"  the 
elder  woman  decided. 

They  drove  away  into  the  face  of  the  wet, 
fresh  wind  and  flying  drops  of  rain.  Flora, 
leaning  back  in  the  carriage,  looked  out  through 
the  window  with  quiet  eyes.  The  spirited  move 
ment  of  the  sky,  the  racing  of  its  shadows  on  the 
grass,  the  rolling  foliage  of  the  trees,  seen  tem 
pestuous  against  flying  cloud,  were  alike  to  her 
consoling  and  inspiring.  She  had  never  felt 
so  free  as  now,  driving  through  the  fitful 
weather,  nor  so  safe  as  with  this  companion  who 
was  sitting  silent  by  her  side.  She  was  driving 
away  from  all  her  complications.  She  was  re 
treating  to  a  fresh  stronghold,  where  her  con 
flict  would  be  a  duel  hand  to  hand,  and  where 
the  outside  forces,  which  had  harassed  her  and 
threatened  ignobly  to  down  her  antagonist  with 
a  stab  in  the  back,  could  be  held  at  bay. 

Already  she  was  looking  toward  the  house 
382 


THE     HOUSE     OF     QUIET 

which  she  had  never  seen  as  her  own  kindly  cas 
tle;  and  the  generous  opening  of  its  gate — old 
granite  crowned  with  rose  of  sharon — did  not 
disappoint  her.  The  house  was  hidden  in  the 
swelling  trees,  but  the  drive  winding  beneath 
them  gave  glimpses  through  of  lawns,  of  roses 
wreathing  scarletly  the  old  gray  fountain  basin, 
of  magnolia  and  acacia,  doubly  delicate  and 
white  and  fragile  beneath  the  thunderous  sky. 

The  house,  when  finally  it  loomed  upon  them, 
with  its  irregular  roofs  topped  by  curious 
square  turrets,  with  its  tremendous  ground  floor 
rambling  away  in  wings  on  every  side,  with  its 
deep  upper  and  lower  verandas,  looked  out  upon 
by  a  multitude  of  long  French  windows,  seemed 
too  large,  too  strangely  imposing  for  a  struc 
ture  of  wood.  But  whatever  of  original  ugli 
ness  had  been  there  was  hidden  now  under  a 
splendid  tapestry  of  vines,  and  Flora,  looking 
up  at  the  rose  and  honeysuckle  that  panoplied 
its  front,  felt  her  throat  swell  for  sheer  delight. 

For  a  moment  after  they  had  left  the  car 
riage  they  stood  together  in  the  porte-cochere, 
383 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

looking  around  them.  Then  half  wistfully,  half 
humorously,  Mrs.  Herrick  turned  to  Flora.  "I 
do  hope  you  won't  want  to  buy  it !" 

"Oh,  I'm  afraid  I  shall,"  Flora  murmured, 
"that  is,  if — "  She  left  her  sentence  hanging, 
as  one  who  would  have  said  "if  I  come  out  of  this 
alive,"  and  Mrs.  Herrick,  with  a  quick  start  of 
protection,  laid  her  hand  on  Flora's  arm. 

"If  you  must,"  she  said  lightly,  "if  you  do 
buy  it,  then  at  least  I  shall  know  it  is  in  good 
hands." 

Flora  gave  her  a  look  of  gratitude,  not  so 
much  for  the  slight  kindness  of  her  words  as  for 
the  great  kindness  of  her  attitude  in  thus  so 
readily  resuming  the  first  assumption  on  which 
her  presence  there  had  been  invited.  That  was 
the  house  itself. 

It  was  plain  to  Flora  from  the  moment  she 
set  foot  over  the  threshold  that  the  house  was 
to  be  no  mean  ally  of  theirs,  but  Mrs.  Herrick 
was  making  it  help  them  doubly  in  their  hard 
interval  of  waiting.  Alone  together  with  un 
spoken,  unspeakable  things  between  them — 
884 


THE     HOUSE     OF     QUIET 

things  that  for  mere  decency  or  honor  could  not 
be  uttered — with  nothing  but  these  to  think  of, 
nothing  but  each  other  to  look  at,  they  must 
yet,  in  sheer  desperation  and  suspense,  have  in 
evitably  burst  out  with  question  or  confession, 
had  not  the  great  house  been  there  to  interpose 
its  personality.  And  the  way  Mrs.  Herrick 
was  making  the  most  of  that !  The  way  imme 
diately,  even  before  she  had  shown  anything, 
she  began  to  revivify  the  spirit  of  the  place,  as 
the  two  women  stood  with  their  hats  not  yet  off 
in  the  room  that  was  to  be  Flora's,  talking  and 
looking  out  upon  the  lawn ! 

With  her  silences,  with  her  expressive  self  as 
well  as  with  her  words,  Mrs.  Herrick  was  reani 
mating  it  all  the  while  they  lunched  and  rested, 
still  in  the  upper-rooms  overlooking  the  garden. 
And  later,  when  they  made  the  tour  of  the  house, 
she  began  unwinding  from  her  memory  incidents 
of  its  early  beginnings,  pieces  of  its  intimate, 
personal  history,  as  one  would  make  a  friend  fa 
miliar  to  another  friend.  And  these  past  his 
tories  and  the  rooms  themselves  were  leading 
385 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

Flora  away  out  of  her  anxious  self,  were  sooth 
ing  her  prying  apprehensions,  were  giving  her 
a  detachment  in  the  present,  till  what  she  so 
anticipated  lay  quiescent  at  the  back  of  her 
brain. 

But  it  was  there.  And  now  and  then,  when 
in  a  gust  of  wind  the  lights  and  shadows  danced 
on  the  dim,  polished  floors,  it  stirred ;  and  at  the 
sound  of  wheels  on  the  drive  below  it  leaped, 
and  all  her  fears  again  were  in  her  face.  At 
such  moments  the  two  women  did  look  deeply 
at  each  other,  and  the  suspense,  the  premonition, 
hovered  in  Mrs.  Herrick's  eyes.  It  was  as  un 
conscious,  as  involuntary,  as  Flora's  start  at 
the  swinging  of  a  door ;  but  no  question  crossed 
her  lips.  She  let  the  matter  as  severely  alone 
as  if  it  had  been  a  jewel  not  her  own.  Yet,  it 
came  to  Flora  all  at  once  that  here,  for  the 
first  time,  she  was  with  one  to  whom  she  could 
have  revealed  the  sapphire  on  her  neck  and  yet 
remain  unchallenged. 

"Ah,  you're  too  lovely!"  she  burst  out  at 
last.  "It  is  more  than  I  deserve  that  you  should 
386 


THE     HOUSE    OF    QUIET 

take  it  all  like  this,  as  if  there  really  wasn't 
anything."  The  elder  lady's  eyes  wavered  a 
little  at  the  plain  words. 

"I'm  too  deeply  doubtful  of  it  to  take  it  any 
other  way,"  she  said. 

"That  is  why  I  feel  most  guilty,"  Flora  ex 
plained.  "For  dragging  you  into  it  and  then 
— bringing  it  into  your  house."  She  glanced 
around  at  the  high,  quiet,  damasked  room.  "Such 
a  thing  to  happen  here!" 

"Ah,  my  dear," — Mrs.  Herrick's  laugh  was 
uncertain — "the  things  that  have  happened  here 
— the  things  that  have  happened  and  been  en 
dured  and  been  forgotten!  and  see,"  she  said, 
laying  her  hand  on  one  of  the  walls,  "the  peace 
of  it  now !" 

Flora  wondered.  She  seemed  to  feel  such  dis 
tances  of  life  extending  yet  beyond  her  sight  as 
dwindled  her,  tiny  and  innocent. 

"It  isn't  what  happens,  but  the  way  we  take 
it  that  makes  the  afterward,"  Mrs.  Herrick 
added. 

The  thought  of  an  afterward  had  stood  very 
387 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

dim  in  Flora's  mind,  and  even  now  that  Mrs. 
Herrick's  words  confronted  her  with  it  she 
couldn't  fancy  what  it  would  be  like.  She 
couldn't  imagine  her  existence  going  on  at  all 
on  the  other  side  of  failure. 

"But  suppose,"  she  tremulously  urged,  "sup 
pose  there  seemed  only  one  way  to  take  what 
had  happened  to  you,  and  that  way,  if  it  failed, 
would  leave  you  no  afterward  at  all,  no  peace, 
no  courage,  nothing." 

Mrs.  Herrick's  eyes  fixed  her  with  their  deep 
pity  and  their  deeper  apprehension.  "There 
are  few  things  so  bad  as  that,"  she  said  slowly, 
"and  those  are  the  ones  we  must  not  touch." 

Flora  paused  a  moment  on  the  brink  of  her 
last  plunge.  "Do  you  think  what  I  am  going 
to  do  is  such  a  thing  as  that?" 

"Oh,  my  poor  child,  how  do  I  know?  I  hope, 
I  pray  it  is  not !"  Her  fingers  closed  on  Flora's 
hand,  and  the  girl  clung  to  the  kind  grasp.  It 
was  a  comfort,  though  it  could  not  save  her 
from  the  real  finality. 

In  spite  of  the  consciousness  of  a  friendly 
388 


THE     HOUSE     OF     QUIET 

presence  in  the  house  her  fears  increased  as  the 
afternoon  waned,  and  her  thoughts  went  back 
to  what  she  had  left  behind  her,  and  forward  to 
what  might  be  coming — the  one  person  whom 
she  so  longed  for,  and  so  dreaded  to  see.  He 
might  be  on  his  way  now.  He  might  at  this 
moment  be  hurrying  down  the  hedged  lane 
from  the  station;  and  when  he  should  come, 
and  when  they  two  were  face  to  face,  there 
would  be  no  other  "next  time"  for  them.  Every 
thing  was  crystalizing,  getting  hard.  Everything 
was  getting  too  near  the  end  to  be  malleable  any 
more.  It  was  her  last  chance  to  make  him  re 
linquish  his  unworthy  purpose ;  perhaps  his  last 
chance  to  save  himself  from  captivity.  She 
found  she  hadn't  a  thing  left  unsaid,  an  argu 
ment  left  unused.  What  could  she  do  that  she 
had  not  done  before,  except  to  show  him  by  just 
being  here,  accessible  and  ready  to  serve  him  at 
any  risk,  how  much  she  cared?  Could  his 
generosity  resist  that? 

Beyond  the  fact  of  getting  him  away  safe 
she  didn't  think.     Beyond  that  nothing  looked 
389 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

large  to  her,  nothing  looked  definite.  The  re 
turning  of  the  sapphire  itself  seemed  simple  be 
side  it,  and  the  fact  that  her  position  in  the 
matter  might  never  be  explained  of  no  impor 
tance. 

Now  while  every  moment  drew  her  nearer  her 
greatest  moment  she  grew  more  absent,  more 
strained,  more  restless,  more  intently  listening, 
more  easily  starting  at  the  lightest  sound ;  until, 
at  last,  when  the  late  day  touched  the  rooms  with 
fiery  sunset  colors,  her  friend,  watchful  of  her 
changing  mood,  ready  at  every  point  to  palliate 
circumstance,  drew  her  out  into  the  garden. 

The  wind,  which  had  fallen  with  approaching 
evening,  was  only  a  whisper  among  the  trees. 
The  greenish-white  bodies  of  statues  in  the 
shrubbery  glowed  ruddy.  Gathering  their 
skirts  from  the  grass  that  glittered  with  the 
drops  of  the  last  shower,  arm  in  arm  the  two 
women  walked  down  the  broad  central  gravel 
drive  between  ribbon  beds  of  flowers.  From  here 
numerous  paths  paved  with  white  stone  went 
wandering  under  snowball  trees  and  wild  apple, 
390 


THE     HOUSE    OF     QUIET 

losing  themselves  in  shrubbery.  But  one  made  a 
clear  turn  across  the  lawn  for  the  rose-garden, 
where  in  the  midst  a  round  pool  of  water  lay  like 
a  flaming  bit  of  the  sunset  sky.  Among  the 
bushes  red  and  rose  and  white,  the  elder  woman 
in  her  black,  the  younger  in  her  gown  more  glow 
ing,  with  a  veil  over  her  hair,  walked,  and,  loiter 
ing,  looked  down  into  the  water,  seeing  their 
faces  reflected,  and,  behind,  the  tangled  brambles 
and  the  crimson  sky.  They  did  not  speak,  but  at 
last  their  companionship  was  peaceful,  was  per 
fect.  The  only  sounds  were  the  sleepy  notes 
of  birds  and  that  faint,  high  whisper  of  the  tree 
tops  on  an  evening  that  is  not  still. 

Loud  and  shrill  and  shriller  and  more  pierc 
ing,  from  the  west  wing  of  the  house,  overhang 
ing  the  garden,  the  sound  reached  them — an 
alarum  that  set  Flora's  heart  to  leaping.  Star 
tled  apart,  they  listened. 

"Would  that  be— is  that  for  you?" 

"I  think  it's  for  me." 

The  words  came  from  them  simultaneously, 
and  almost  at  the  same  instant  Flora  had  started 
391 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

across  the  lawn.  The  sight  of  an  aproned  maid 
coming  out  on  the  veranda  and  peering  down  the 
garden  set  her  running  fleetly. 

"It's  a  telephone  for  Miss  Gilsey,"  the  girl 
said. 

"Oh,  thank  you,"  Flora  panted. 

She  knew  so  well  the  voice  she  had  expected 
at  the  other  end  of  the  wire  that  the  husky,  boy 
ish  note  which  reached  her,  attenuated  by  dis 
tance,  struck  her  with  dismay  and  disappoint 
ment. 

"Ella,  oh,  yes;  yes;  Ella."  What  was  she 
saying?  Ella  was  using  the  telephone  as  if  it 
were  a  cabinet  for  secrets. 

"Clara  told  me  you  were  down  there,"  she 
was  explaining.  "I  saw  her  this  morning,  yes. 
Well," — and  she  could  hear  Ella  draw  in  her 
breath — "I'm  so  relieved!  I  thought  you'd  be, 
too,  to  know.  I  was  perfectly  right.  She  was 
after  him." 

Flora  faltered,  "After  whom?"  There  flashed 
through  her  mind  more  than  one  person  that, 
by  this  time,  Clara  might  possibly  be  after. 
392 


THE     HOUSE     OF     QUIET 

"Why,  after  papa,  of  course!"  Ella's  Injured 
surprise  brought  her  back  to  the  romance  of 
Judge  Buller.  Her  voice  rose  in  sheer  bewil 
derment.  "Well?" 

Ella's  voice  rose  triumphantly.  "I  got  it  out 
of  her  myself.  I  just  came  right  out  to  her  at 
last.  She  seemed  awfully  surprised  that  I  knew ; 
but  she  owned  up  to  it,  and  what  do  you  think? 
I  bought  her  off !" 

"Bought  her  off?"  Flora  cried.  Each  fact 
that  Ella  brought  forth  seemed  to  her  more  pre 
posterous  than  the  last. 

"Why,  yes,  it's  too  ridiculous ;  what  do  you 
think  she  wanted?" 

At  that  question  Flora's  heart  seemed  fairly 
to  stand  still.  That  was  the  very  question  she 
had  been  asking  herself  for  days,  and  asking 
in  vain. 

Ella's  voice  was  coming  to  her  faint  as  a 
voice  from  another  world.  "She  wanted  that  lit 
tle,  little  picture — that  picture  of  the  man  called 
Farrell  Wand.  Don't  you  remember,  papa  men 
tioned  it  at  supper  that  evening  at  the  club? 
393 


THE     COAST     0,F    CHANCE 

Isn't  it  funny  she  remembered  it  all  this  time? 
Well,  she  wanted  it  dreadfully,  but  Harry 
wanted  it,  too,  and  papa  said  he  had  promised 
it  to  Harry;  but  I  got  it  first  and  gave  it  to 
her."  Ella's  voice  ended  on  a  high  note  of 
triumph. 

Flora's,  if  anything,  rose  higher  in  despair. 
"Oh,  Ella!" 

"Doesn't  it  seem  ridiculous,"  Ella  argued, 
"that  if  she  really  wanted  him  she'd  give  him 
up  for  that?" 

"Oh,  no — I  mean  yes,"  Flora  stammered. 
"Yes,  of  course!  thank  you,  Ella,  very  much — 
very  much."  The  last  words  were  hardly  audi 
ble.  The  receiver  fell  jangling  into  its  bracket, 
and  Flora  leaned  against  the  wall  by  the  tele 
phone  and  closed  her  eyes. 

For  a  moment  all  she  could  see  was  Clara  with 
that  little,  little  picture.  How  well  she  could 
remember  how  Clara  had  looked  that  night  of 
the  club  supper ! 

From  the  moment  Judge  Buller  had  spoken 
of  the  picture,  how  all  three  of  them  had 
394 


THE     HOUSE    OF    QUIET 

changed,  Clara  and  Kerr  and  Harry.  Every 
thing  that  had  seemed  so  phantasmal  then,  ev 
erything  she  had  put  down  as  a  figment  of  her 
own  imagination,  had  meant  just  this  plain  fact. 
All  three  of  them  had  wanted  the  picture.  For 
his  own  reason  Kerr  had  turned  aside  from  the 
chase,  but  Harry  had  stood  with  it  to  the  last, 
and  now,  when  finally  the  prize  had  been  as 
sured  to  him,  Clara  had  it ! 

At  this  moment  she  had  it  in  her  hand.  At 
this  moment  she  knew  what  was  the  aspect  of  the 
figure  in  the  picture,  whether  it  showed  a  face, 
and,  if  a  face,  whose.  Flora's  hands  opened  and 
closed.  "Oh,"  she  whispered  to  the  great  silence 
of  the  great  house  awaiting  him;  "where  is  he? 
Why  isn't  he  here?" 

All  those  terrible  things  which  might  be  hap 
pening  beyond  her  reach  processioned  before 
her.  Had  Clara  already  snapped  the  trap  of 
the  law  upon  Kerr?  And  if  she  hadn't  yet, 
what  could  be  done  to  hold  her  off?  Flora 
turned  again  to  the  telephone.  Slowly  she  took 
down  the  receiver  and  gave  into  the  bright 
895 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

mouthpiece  of  the  instrument  the  number  of  her 
own  house. 

Presently  the  voice  of  Shima  spoke  to  her. 
Mrs.  Britton  had  gone  out  to  dinner. 

"Tell  her,  Shima,"  Flora  commanded,  "tell 
her  to  come  down  on  the  earliest  train."  She 
hesitated,  then  finished  in  a  firm  voice.  "Tell 
her  not  to  do  anything  until  she  has  seen  me." 

Shima  would  tell  her — but  Mrs.  Britton  had 
been  out  all  day.  He  did  not  know  when  she 
would  be  back. 

The  words  sounded  ominous  in  Flora's  ears. 
She  turned  away.  Was  everything  to  be  fin 
ished  just  as  she  had  light  enough  to  move,  but 
before  she  had  a  chance? 

The  sound  of  spinning  wheels  on  the  drive 
startled  her  to  fresh  hope,  and  sent  her  hurrying 
down  the  stair.  It  was  the  phaeton  returning 
from  the  last  train.  Through  the  open  door  she 
saw  the  figure  of  Mrs.  Herrick  expectant  on  the 
veranda.  Then  the  carriage  came  into  the  porte- 
cochere  and  passed.  With  a  rush  she  reached  the 
veranda,  and  stood  there  looking  after  it.  She 
396 


THE     HOUSE    OF     QUIET 

wouldn't  believe  her  eyes — she  couldn't — that  it 
had  returned  again  empty. 

Mrs.  Herrick's  voice  was  asking  her,  "What 
shall  we  do?  Shall  we  serve  dinner  now,  or 
wait  a  little  longer?" 

"Oh,  it's  no  use,"  Flora  murmured,  "he  won't 
come  to-night.  He'll  never  come."  She  drooped 
against  the  tall  porch  pillar. 

"My  poor  child !"  Mrs.  Herrick  took  her  pas 
sive  hand.  If  she  read  in  the  profound  discour 
agement  of  Flora's  face  that  something  more 
had  transpired  than  a  mere  non-appearance,  she 
did  not  show  it,  but  waited,  alert  and  quiet, 
while  they  gazed  together  out  over  the  darken 
ing  garden. 

It  was  the  time  of  twilight  when  the  sky  is 
so  much  brighter  than  the  earth.  Across  the 
lawns  between  the  bushes  from  hedge  to  hedge 
the  veil  of  the  obscuring  light  was  coming  in ; 
and  through  it  the  avenue  of  willows  marched 
darkly.  Their  leaves  moved  a  little.  Flora 
watched  the  ripple  of  their  tops,  clear  on  the 
bright  sky,  and  deeper  down  among  mysterious 
397 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

branches  there  was  a  sense  of  movement  where 
the  eyes  could  not  see.  There  was  a  curious 
flick,  flick,  flicker — a  progression,  a  passing 
from  the  far  dark  end  of  the  willow  avenue 
toward  where  it  met  the  vista  of  the  drive. 
Flora's  eyes,  absently,  involuntarily,  followed  the 
movement.  She  felt  Mrs.  Herrick's  hand  sud 
denly  close  on  hers. 

"Is  some  one  coming?" 

They  clung  to  each  other,  peering  timorously 
down  the  drive.  A  little  gust  of  wind  took  the 
garden,  and  before  the  trees  had  ceased  to  trem 
ble  and  whiten  a  man  had  emerged  from  their 
shadow  and  was  advancing  upon  them  up  the 
middle  of  the  drive. 

Flora's  heart  leaped  at  sight  of  him.  All  her 
impulse  was  to  fly  to  meet  him,  but  she  felt 
Mrs.  Herrick's  hand  tighten  upon  her  wrist  as 
if  it  divined  her  madness. 

His  light  stick  aswing  in  his  hand,  his  step 

free  and  incautious  as  ever,  gray  and  slender 

and  seeming  to  look  more  at  the  ground  than 

at  them,  the  two  women  watched  him  drawing 

398 


THE     HOUSE     OF     QUIET 

near.  His  was  the  seeming  of  a  quiet  guest  at 
the  quietest  of  house  parties.  To  meet  him  Flora 
saw  she  must  meet  him  on  the  high  ground  of  his 
reserve.  As  he  came  under  the  light  of  the  porte- 
cochere  his  look,  his  greeting,  his  hand,  were  first 
for  Mrs.  Herrick. 

"We  were  afraid  we  had  missed  you  alto 
gether,"  said  she. 

"It  was  I  who  somehow  missed  your  carriage, 
was  hardly  expecting  to  be  expected  at  such  an 
hour." 

Flora  watched  them  meeting  each  other  so 
gallantly  with  a  trembling  compunction.  Mrs. 
Herrick,  who  trusted  her,  was  giving  her  hand 
in  sublime  ignorance.  It  was  vain  that  Flora 
told  herself  she  had  given  warning.  She  knew 
she  had  thrown  the  softening  veil  of  her  spirit 
ual  crisis  over  the  ugly  material  fact.  Had  she 
said,  "I  want  you  to  uphold  me  while  I  meet  a 
thief  whom  I  love  and  wish  to  protect.  He's 
magnificent  in  all  other  ways  except  for  this  one 
obsession,"  she  knew  Mrs.  Herrick  simply  would 
have  cried,  "Impossible,  outrageous!'*  Yet 
399 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

there  they  stood  together,  and  as  Flora  looked 
at  them  she  could  not  have  told  which  was  of  the 
finer  temper.  Kerr's  bearing  was  so  unruffled 
that  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  flown  too  high  to 
feel  the  storm  Flora  was  passing  through.  But 
when  he  turned  toward  her,  in  spite  of  himself, 
there  was  eagerness  in  his  manner.  He  looked 
questioningly  at  her,  as  if  no  time  had  inter 
vened,  as  if  a  moment  before  he  had  said  to 
her  through  the  carriage  window,  "I  will  give 
you  twenty-four  hours,"  and  now  her  time  had 
come  to  speak. 

Only  the  thought  that  time  was  crowding  him 
into  a  bag's  end  gave  her  courage  to  vow  she 
would  speak  that  night.  Yet  not  now,  while 
they  stood  just  met  in  the  deepening  dusk,  in 
the  sweet  breath  of  the  early  flowers ;  nor  later 
when  they  passed  in  friendly  fashion,  the  three 
of  them,  through  fairy  labyrinths  of  arch  and 
mirror,  into  the  long,  high,  glistening  room, 
whose  round  table,  spread,  seemed  dwarfed  to 
mushroom  height ;  nor  yet,  while  this  semblance 
of  companionship  was  between  them,  and  the 
400 


THE     HOUSE    OF    QUIET 

great  proportions  of  the  place  lifting  oppres 
sion,  left  them  as  unconscious  of  walls  and 
roof  as  though  they  were  met  in  the  open.  The 
clock  twice  marked  the  passing  hour.  She  had 
never  heard  Mrs.  Herrick  speak  so  flowingly 
nor  Kerr  listen  so  well,  placing  his  questions 
nicely  to  draw  out  the  thread  of  her  theme.  Yet 
Flora  guessed  his  thought  must  be  fixed  on 
their  approaching  moment,  as  hers  was — on  the 
moment  when  they  should  be  ready  to  quit  the 
table  and  Mrs.  Herrick  would  leave  them  to 
themselves. 

It  was  the  appearance  of  the  aproned  maid 
that  broke  their  unity.  The  last  course  was  on 
the  table,  the  last  taste  of  its  pungent  fruit 
essence  on  their  tongues — and  what  was  the 
girl's  errand  now?  The  eye  of  her  mistress 
was  inquiring. 

"Some  one  has  come,  Mrs.  Herrick."  The 
woman's  proper  formula  seemed  to  fail  her. 
She  looked  as  if  she  had  been  frightened. 

"Some  one?"  Mrs.  Herrick  showed  asperity. 
"What  name?" 

401 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

"He  is  coming  in."  As  she  spoke  the  girl 
shrank  a  little  to  one  side. 

With  his  long  coat  open,  hanging  from  the 
armpits,  with  ruffled  hair,  and  lips  apart,  and 
from  breathlessness  a  little  smiling,  Harry  ap 
peared  in  the  doorway.  Kerr  leaned  forward. 
Mrs.  Herrick  did  not  move.  She  was  facing 
the  last  arrival  and  she  was  smiling  more  flexi 
bly,  more  naturally,  than  Harry;  but  it  was 
Flora  who  found  the  first  word. 

"You!  I— I  thought  it  was  Clara."  She 
was  struggling  for  nonchalance,  for  poise,  at 
this  worst  blow,  so  unexpected. 

"Clara  won't  be  down,"  Harry  said,  advanc 
ing.  "How  d'ye  do,  Mrs.  Herrick?  How  d'ye 
do,  Kerr?" 

"How  d'ye  do?"  said  the  Englishman,  with 
out  rising. 

Flora  gripped  the  arms  of  her  chair  to  keep 
from  springing  up  in  sheer  nervous  terror.  A 
possible  purpose  in  Harry's  coming,  that  even 
Mrs.  Herrick's  presence  would  not  defer,  shot 
through  her  mind.  Was  he  alone?  Or  were 
402 


THE     HOUSE     OF     QUIET 

there  others — men  here  for  a  fearful  purpose 
— waiting  beyond  in  the  hall?  But  Harry  had 
turned  his  back  upon  the  door  behind  him  with 
a  finality  that  declared  whatever  danger  had 
come  into  the  house  was  complete  in  his  pres 
ence. 

"I've  dined,  thanks,"  he  said,  but,  stripping 
off  his  greatcoat,  accepted  a  chair  and  the  glass 
of  cordial  Mrs.  Herrick  offered  him.  The  ruddy, 
hard  quality  of  his  face,  were  it  divested  of  its 
present  smile,  Flora  thought,  might  well  have 
frightened  the  maid;  but,  for  all  that,  it  was 
not  so  implacable  as  Kerr's  face  confronting  it. 
The  look  with  which  he  met  the  intrusion  had 
a  quality  more  bitter  than  the  challenge  of  an 
antagonist,  more  jealous  than  a  mere  lover's; 
and  that  bitterness,  that  jealousy  which  was  be 
tween  them  came  out  stingingly  through  their 
small  pleasantness.  It  could  not  be,  Flora 
thought  in  terror,  that  Mrs.  Herrick  intended 
to  leave  these  two  enemies  to  each  other !  Mrs. 
Herrick  had  risen;  and  Flora,  following,  saw 
both  men,  also  uprisen,  hang  hesitatingly,  as 
403 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

if  unready  to  be  'deserted;  yet  witH  well-filled 
glasses,  and  newly  smoking  tobacco,  both  were 
caught. 

Then  Kerr,  with  a  quick  dash  of  his  hand, 
picked  up  his  glass.  "Let  us  be  Continental," 
he  begged,  and  followed  close  at  Flora's  side. 
Without  moving  his  lips  Kerr  was  speaking. 
"What  does  this  mean?" 

She  sensed  the  anger  in  his  smothered  voice, 
but  she  dared  not  look  at  him. 

"I  have  no  idea ;  but  I  will  see  you." 

"When?" 

Her  answer  leaped  to  her  mind  and  her  lips 
at  the  same  moment. 

"In  the  rotunda  when  the  house  is  quiet." 

Harry  had  followed  leisurely  in  their  wake. 
The  flush  of  haste  had  subsided  in  his  face, 
and  when  the  four  regrouped  themselves  in  the 
high,  darkly-paneled  room,  among  the  low  lights, 
Flora  remarked  his  extraordinary  composure. 
Bitter  he  might  be ;  but  all  the  nervousness,  sus 
picion,  uneasiness,  that  he  had  shown  of  late  had 
404 


THE     HOUSE    OF    QUIET 

vanished.  There  was  a  tremendous  confidence 
about  him,  the  confidence  of  the  player  who  holds 
cards  that  must  win  the  game,  and  sits  back  wait 
ing  for  his  moment. 

But  she  was  ready  to  laugh  at  him  in  his  se 
curity.  He  had  underestimated  his  opponent. 
In  spite  of  him  she  was  to  have  her  meeting  with 
Kerr!  Harry  had  waited  too  long  to  prevent 
that,  whatever  he  might  do  afterward.  In  this 
inspired  moment  she  felt  herself  touching  con 
quering  heights  which  before  she  had  only 
touched  in  imagination.  She  felt  enough  power 
in  herself  to  move  even  such  a  mountain  of  ob 
stinacy  as  Kerr.  She  stole  a  look  at  him — a 
look  of  glad  intelligence.  He  understood  as  if 
she  had  spoken.  They  were  to  meet,  while  all 
the  house  slept  fast,  to  meet  for  his  great  re 
nunciation.  Then,  in  the  morning,  when  Harry 
was  ready  with  whatever  move  he  was  holding 
back,  Kerr  would  be  gone.  There  would  be  no 
Kerr — but  she  must  not  think  of  that!  She 
glanced  at  him  again  in  the  thick  of  the  talk, 
405 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

and  caught  his  eye  upon  her,  puzzled,  and,  she 
thought,  with  a  glimmer  of  doubt. 

She  smiled ;  and  smiled  again  at  the  ease  with 
which  she  reassured  him,  merely  by  looking  at 
him.  He  should  see,  in  the  end,  how  true  she 
could  be! 

He  was  talking  tremendously,  flinging  off 
fireworks  of  words,  but  she  was  curiously  aware 
that  Mrs.  Herrick  and  Harry  were  looking  more 
at  her  than  at  Kerr.  She  felt  herself  the  domi 
nant  spirit.  She  saw  them  acknowledge  it, 
swept  along  by  the  high  tide  of  her  mood  that 
was  rising  to  meet  her  great  decisive  moment. 
Yet  on  the  surface  the  strong  pulse  of  it  ap 
peared  as  ripples — words,  smiles,  gay  gestures, 
laughter — rising  like  the  last  bubble  on  a  wave's 
crest.  She  was  not  consciously  acting;  she  was 
inspired  by  the  power  of  what  she  concealed  and 
must  conceal.  And  when  she  left  them  it  was  like 
a  triumphant  exit;  almost  it  seemed  to  her  as  if 
she  might  hear  their  applause  following  her. 

In  the  room  where,  some  eight  hours  before, 
she  and  Mrs.  Herrick  had  talked,  Flora  waited, 
406 


THE     HOUSE     OF     QUIET 

fully  dressed.  It  had  been  early  when  they  had 
separated.  The  strain  of  the  four  together  had 
been  terrific ;  and  she  was  still  feeling  it,  though 
an  hour  had  passed.  She  was  feeling  that,  now 
her  situation  was  upon  her,  she  was  alone.  Mrs. 
Herrick  could  only  be  near  her,  not  with  her,  and 
Kerr  was  still  an  unknown  quantity — except  that 
he  was  fire. 

And  there  was  Harry,  with  his  terrible  cer 
tainty,  and  no  apparent  thing  to  account  for  it. 
It  could  not  be  there  were  men  in  the  house 
without  the  servants  remarking  it;  but  in  the 
garden?  She  peered  out  upon  it.  Only  tree 
shadows  moved  upon  the  lawn.  Nothing  glim 
mered  in  the  walks  or  drives.  The  solitude  held 
her  like  an  enchantment.  She  listened  for  the 
small  sounds  in  the  house  to  cease,  for  the  lights 
in  the  lower  story  to  go  out,  proclaiming  all  the 
servants  were  in  bed.  Even  after  the  stillness 
she  waited — waited  to  be  sure  it  was  the  long 
stillness. 

Finally  she  crept  to  the  door  and  opened  it 
boldly  wide. 

407 


THE     COAST    OF    CHANCE 

She  stood  where  she  was  upon  the  threshold 
trembling  in  a  cruel  fright.  A  gas-jet  burning 
far  up  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  threw  a  dim  light 
down  the  pale,  pinkish,  naked  vista,  void  of 
furniture,  window  or  curtain;  and,  leaning 
against  the  blank  wall  almost  opposite  her  door, 
and  directly  facing  her,  was  Harry. 

Without  speaking  they  looked  at  each  other. 
He  was  fully  dressed,  but  lacking  his  shoes,  as 
she  noted  in  the  acuteness  of  her  startled  senses. 
The  furtive  suggestion  of  those  shoeless  feet 
struck  her  with  horror — formless,  unreasoning. 
It  was  like  an  evil  dream  to  find  him  there, 
stolen  to  her  door  in  the  night,  waiting  outside 
it  without  a  sound,  looking  her  steadily,  hardily 
in  the  eye  without  a  word. 

She  tried  to  speak,  but,  with  terror  sobbing 
in  her  throat,  the  words  failed.  She  made  a 
step  forward  with  a  crazy  impulse  to  rush  past 
him. 

He  straightened,  with  a  quick  movement 
toward  her.  She  recoiled  before  him,  precipi 
tately  retreated,  closed  the  door,  shot  the  bolt, 
408 


THE     HOUSE     OF     QUIET 

and  leaned,  for  faintness,  against  the  wall.  She 
expected  each  moment  to  hear  him  tap.  She 
neither  heard  a  knock  nor  the  sound  of  soft,  de 
parting  feet.  He  was  still  there!  He  was  on 
guard !  He  had  had  good  reason  for  his  terrible 
certainty !  He  had  foreseen  what  her  plan  might 
be,  and  she  knew  he  would  no  more  let  her  get 
past  him  down  the  hall  than  the  turnkey  will  let 
the  wretched  prisoner  escape. 

The  last  flicker  of  her  courage  died  at  that 
thought.  All  her  fine  exultation  was  beaten 
out  by  the  fact  of  the  brute  force  outside  her 
door.  She  could  not  get  to  Kerr  now.  Cower 
ing  behind  her  door  she  could  only  fancy  him 
waiting  for  her  in  the  rotunda  while  the  mo 
ments  lengthened  into  hours,  each  moment  dis 
trusting  her  more. 


409 


XXII 

CLARA'S    MARKET 

A~L  night  she  sat  awake  huddled  under 
her  greatcoat  in  the  chilly  darkness. 
She  could  not  lie  down,  she  could  not 
close  her  eyes.  At  long  intervals  she  heard  the 
tread  of  unshod  feet  along  the  hall,  and  then 
she  held  her  breath  lest  at  her  slightest  stir 
they  approach  her  door.  Why,  since  he  wanted 
the  sapphire,  hadn't  he  tried  to  get  it  from  her 
when  he  had  had  her  unawares,  upon  her  thres 
hold  with  the  house  asleep?  It  began  to  seem 
to  her  as  if  he  were  waiting,  as  if  he  were  forced 
to  wait,  for  some  appointed  moment.  She  knew 
if  it  were  his  moment  it  would  be  hers,  too,  as 
long  as  she  had  the  sapphire  upon  her.  She 
recalled  fearfully  the  moment  when  she  had 
crouched  against  the  window  with  her  hand  pro- 
410 


CLARA'S    MARKET 

tecting  the  jewel,  and  Harry's  hand  grasping 
her  wrist.  He  would  know  well  enough  where  to 
find  it  now.  Oh,  the  restless  unconcealable  thing ! 
Where  could  she  hide  it? 

She  took  the  pear-shaped  pouch  that  swung 
always  before  her  on  her  long  gold  chain.  She 
had  repudiated  that  hiding-place  before,  but 
now  the  more  obvious  the  better — now  that  both 
men  supposed  she  carried  the  jewel  far  hidden 
out  of  sight.  Without  moving  from  the  bed 
where  she  was  crouched,  cramped  and  cold,  she 
made  the  exchange,  leaving  the  chain  still  around 
her  neck,  dropping  the  jewel  into  the  pouch, 
where  it  would  swing  free,  so  carelessly  dangling 
as  to  be  beyond  suspicion,  but  never  beyond  the 
reach  of  her  hand. 

It  was  a  pale,  splendid  dawning  full  of 
clouds  when  she  feel  asleep. 

Broad  sunlight  filled  her  room  when  she  was 
awakened  by  a  knocking  at  her  door.  She  sprang 
from  the  bed  and  went  to  it.  She  was  not  to  be 
come  in  upon  by  any  unwelcome  visitor.  But  it 
was  Mrs.  Herrick ;  and  Flora,  with  a  murmur  of 
411 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

relief,  since  this  was  the  one  person  she  did  want 
to  see,  drew  her  inside. 

"Why,  my  child,  you  haven't  slept,  at  least 
not  properly."  Mrs.  Herrick  herself  looked 
anxious  and  weary.  "I've  come  to  tell  you  that 
Mrs.  Britton  is  here.  She  came  an  hour  ago." 

"Where  is  she?" 

"In  the  breakfast-room  with  Mr.  Cressy." 

"Oh,"  Flora  cried,  "you  know  I  didn't  ex 
pect  them.  I  didn't  want  them.  It  wasn't  for 
them  I  asked  you  to  come." 

"But  can't  you  tell  me  what  it  is  you're 
afraid  of?"  the  other  urged.  "Between  us 
can't  we  prevent  it?  Is  there  nothing  I  can  do 
to  help  you?" 

"Ah,  if  you  knew  how  much  you  have  al 
ready  helped  me  by  just  being  here." 

Her  companion  laughed  a  little.  "Can't  I 
do  something  more  active  than  that?" 

Flora  pondered.    "Where  is  Mr.  Kerr?" 

"In  the  garden,  in  the  willow  walk." 

"Do   you   think   you    can   manage  that  the 
others  don't  get  at  him?" 
412 


CLARA'S   MARKET 

"I  can;  if  he  doesn't  want  to  get  at  them," 
Mrs.  Herrick  replied.  "Against  a  man  like 
that,  my  dear,"  she  aimed  it  gravely  at  Flora, 
"one  can  do  nothing." 

But  Flora  had  no  answer  for  the  warning. 
"I  must  see  Clara  immediately,"  she  said. 

"But  not  without  breakfast,"  Mrs.  Herrick 
protested.  "I  will  send  you  up  something.  Re 
member  that  she  never  abuses  herself,  so  she's 
always  fresh — and  so  she's  always  equal  to  the 
occasion." 

Mrs.  Herrick  went.  Flora  looked  into  the 
mirror.  Almost  for  the  first  time  in  ten  days  she 
thought  of  her  appearance.  If  it  was,  as  Mrs. 
Herrick  said,  a  factor  of  success,  something 
must  be  done  for  it,  for  it  was  dreadful.  The 
bes"t  she  could  do  revived  a  pale  replica  of  the 
vivid  creature  who  had  been  wont  to  regard  her 
from  her  glass.  Yet  her  black  gown,  thin  and 
trailing  far  behind  her,  and  her  hair  wound 
high,  by  very  force  of  their  contrasted  color 
gave  her  a  real  brilliance  as  they  gave  her  a 
seeming  height.  But  she  descended  to  the  break- 
413  " 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

fast-room  with  trepidation,  and  stood  a  full  min 
ute  before  the  door  gathering  courage  to  go  in. 

When  she  did  open  it,  it  was  so  suddenly  that 
both  occupants  faced  her  with  a  start.  They 
were  standing  close  together,  and  between  them, 
on  the  glare  of  the  white  table-cloth,  lay  a  lit 
tle  heap  of  gold.  As  they  peered  at  her  she  saw 
that  both  were  highly  excited,  but  in  Clara  it 
showed  like  a  cold  sparkle ;  in  Harry  it  gloomed 
like  a  menace.  His  hand  hovered,  clenched,  above 
the  money  in  a  panic  of  irresolution ;  then,  as  if 
with  an  involuntary  relax  of  nerves,  opened  and 
let  fall  one  last  piece  of  gold.  Like  a  flash  the 
whole  disappeared  in  a  sweep  of  Clara's  hand. 
It  passed  before  Flora's  eyes  like  a  presti 
digitator's  trick,  so  rapid  as  to  seem  unreal,  and 
left  her  staring.  Harry  gave  Clara  a  look,  half 
suspicious,  half  entreating ;  and  then,  to  Flora's 
astonishment,  turned  away  without  a  word  to 
either  of  them. 

Clara  stood  still,  even  after  the  door  had 
closed  upon  Harry,  and  oddly,  and  rather  hor 
ridly,  she  wore  the  same  aspect  she  had  worn 
414 


CLARAS     MARKET 

the  day  when  she  had  looked  intently  and  ab- 
sorbedly  upon  the  rifled  contents  of  Flora's  room. 

"Good  morning,"  she  said,  and,  pushing  up 
her  little  misty  veil,  sat  down  with  her  back  to 
the  deserted  breakfast  table,  and  waited  meekly, 
like  one  who  has  been  summoned. 

"I  am  very  glad  you've  come,"  Flora  said. 
Her  wits  were  still  all  a-flutter  from  the  appear 
ance  of  that  little  heap  of  gold.  She  came  for 
ward  and  stood  in  Harry's  place.  She  was  face 
to  face  with  the  person  and  the  question,  but  be 
fore  the  great  import  of  it,  and  before  the  marble 
front  of  Clara's  patience,  she  felt  helpless. 
There  was  silence  in  the  room,  perfect  silence  in 
the  garden ;  but  moving  along  the  hedged  walk 
all  at  once  she  saw  the  flutter  of  Mrs.  Herrick's 
gown,  and  then  in  profile  Kerr  beside  her.  The 
sight  of  him  gave  her  her  proper  inspiration. 
She  turned  upon  Clara. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  the  picture 
of  Farrell  Wand?" 

For  the  first  time  she  saw  Clara  startled.  Her 
lips  parted,  and  the  breath  that  came  and  went 
415 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

between  them  was  audible.  But  she  was  herself 
again  before  she  spoke.  "Do  with  it?  Why  I 
don't  know."  Her  fingers  drummed  the  table. 

"Whatever  you  do,"  Flora  began,  "please,  oh, 
please  don't  do  anything  Immediately." 

Clara's  eyebrows  rose  like  graceful  swallows. 
"You  seem  to  anticipate  pretty  clearly  what  I 
am  going  to  do." 

"I  suppose  you're  going  to  do  what  any  one 
would  who  had  a  clue,  and  could  bring  a  person 
to  justice,"  Flora  candidly  responded.  "But 
if  ever  I  have  made  anything  easy  for  you, 
Clara,  won't  you  this  time  make  it  easy  for  me? 
I'm  not  asking  you  to  give  up  the  picture,  I'm 
only  asking  you  to  wait." 

Clara  nodded  toward  the  window,  through 
which  Kerr  could  still  be  seen  with  Mrs.  Her- 
rick.  "On  account  of  him?" 

"On  account  of  him." 

For  the  first  time  Clara  smiled.    It  crept  out 

upon  her  face,  as  it  were  involuntarily,  but  she 

sat  there  smiling  in  contemplation  for  quite  ten 

seconds.    At  last,  "You  want  me  to  suppress  my 

416 


CLARA'S   MARKET 

information?  My  dear  Flora,  don't  you  think 
you  want  me  to  do  more  than  is  honest?" 

"Honest!"  Flora  cried.  The  words  sounded 
hideous  to  her  on  Clara's  tongue;  and  yet  what 
right  had  she,  she  thought  with  shame,  to  judge 
-of  Clara's  honesty  when  she  herself  was  leagued 
with  a  thief?  "Clara,"  she  said  humbly,  before 
this  upholder  of  the  right,  "I  can't  pretend  I'm 
not  suppressing  tilings.  I've  only  asked  you  to 
see  me  before  you  do  anything  more.  Now, 
you've  come.  Will  you  tell  me  one  thing — did 
you  bring  the  picture  with  you  ?" 

Clara  weighed  it.  "Well,  if  I  did—" 

This  was  the  considering  Clara,  and  Flora 
realized  whatever  she  could  expect  from  her  she 
couldn't  expect  mercy.  It  was  another  thing  she 
must  appeal  to. 

"Clara,"  she  urged,  "wait  three  days,  and  you 
shall  have  the  whole  of  it.  You  have  only  the 
picture  now.  You  shall  have  the  jewel,  too. 
Then  you  can  get  the  reward  and  still  be — hon 
est." 

She  let  the  word  fall  into  the  silence  fearfully, 
417 


THE     COAST    OF    CHANCE 

as  if  she  were  afraid  Clara  might  detect  its  sneer. 
But  this  time  Clara  neither  smiled  nor  frowned. 

"It  isn't  the  reward  I'm  thinking  about. 
That's  really  very  little,  considering." 

"Twenty  thousand  dollars !" 

"Would  that  be  much  to  you  ?" 

"No,"  Flora  admitted;  "at  least  I  mean  I 
could  pay  it." 

"Well,  then,"  Clara  triumphed,  "why,  the 
picture  alone,  if  it's  worth  anything,  is  worth 
more  than  that."  With  a  bird-like  lifting  of  the 
head  she  gave  a  sidelong  interrogative  glance. 

Flora,  for  a  moment,  steadily  returned  the 
look.  It  was  coming  over  her  what  Clara  meant ; 
a  meaning  so  simple  it  was  absurd  she  had  not 
thought  of  it  before — so  hateful  that  it  was  all 
she  could  do  to  face  it.  She  felt  a  tightness  in 
her  throat  that  was  not  tears.  Shame  and  anger 
contended  in  her.  Oh,  for  the  power  to  have  re 
fused  that  shameful  bargain — to  have  scorned 
it!  She  turned  away.  She  closed  her  eyes.  In 
her  mind  she  saw  the  figure  of  Kerr  moving 
quietly  about  the  winding  walks  with  Mrs.  Her- 
418 


CLARA'S    MARKET 

rick.  She  faced  sharply  about.  "What  is  it 
worth  to  you?" 

Clara  put  her  off  with  the  last  sweet  meekness 
of  her  cleverness.  "Whatever  it's  worth  to  you 
— and  him." 

Flora  was  in  command  of  herself  now.  "There 
are  some  things  I  can  not  set  a  price  on.  If  this 
is  what  you  have  come  down  for,  we  are  simply 
waiting  for  you  to  name  it."  She  looked  over 
Clara's  head.  She  had  stood  abashed  when  Clara 
had  put  on  the  majesty  of  right,  but  now  it  was 
Clara  herself  who  was  abashed,  not  at  the  thing 
itself,  but  at  the  fact  of  having  to  utter  it.  She 
sat  grasping  one  of  her  gloves  in  her  doubled 
fist;  and,  leaning  forward,  with  her  eyes  like 
jewels  in  her  little  pale  face  and  the  white  aura 
of  her  veil,  waited  as  if  she  thought  that  by  some 
silent  agency  of  understanding  Flora  would 
presently  take  up  a  pen  and  write  the  desired  fig 
ure  in  her  check-book. 

But  Flora  stood  inexorable,  straight  and 
black,  crowned  with  her  helmet  of  gleaming  hair ; 
and,  with  her  hands  behind  her,  looked  over 
419 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

Clara's  Head  through  the  window  into  the  gar 
den.  She  would  not  help  Clara  gloss  over  this 
ugly  fact. 

A  curious  grimace  distorted  Clara's  features, 
as  if  with  an  effort  she  gulped  something  bitter, 
and  then  into  the  silence  her  voice  fell — a  gasp, 
a  breath — "Fifty  thousand." 

All  sums  had  become  the  same  to  Flora,  even 
her  year's  income.  As  if  she  were  verily  afraid 
Clara  might  take  it  back,  she  turned  precipi 
tately  to  a  writing-table.  But  Clara  had  risen, 
and  though  still  pale,  in  a  measure  she  seemed 
to  have  recovered  herself. 

"Wait.  I  can't  give  it  to  you  now.  I  will 
meet  you  here  in  two  hours  and  bring  the  pic 
ture.  You  can  let  me  have  it  then.'* 

"Oh,  two  hours!"  Flora  objected. 

But  Clara  was  firm.  "No,  I  can*t  bring  it 
sooner.  It  will  make  no  difference  in  your  af 
fair."  She  was  panting  in  her  excitement.  "In 
two  hours  you  shall  have  the  picture  here.  I 
promise  you." 

Flora  wondered.  Depth  below  depth!  She 
420 


CLARA'S    MARKET 

could  never  seem  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  this 
business.  There  was  only  one  thing  she  could 
count  on,  and  that  was  Clara's  impeccable  honor 
in  living  up  to  a  bargain.  Flora  sealed  that  bar 
gain  now.  She  held  out  her  fluttering  slip  of 
paper,  still  wet  with  ink. 

"Very  well,  in  two  hours — but  take  this  now. 
I  would  rather  you  did." 

Clara  reached  the  tips  of  her  fingers,  touched 
the  paper — and  then  it  was  no  longer  in  Flora's 
hand,  and  Clara  was  walking  from  her  across 
the  room. 


421 


XXIII 

TOUCHE 

LEFT  alone,  Flora  glanced  rapidly 
around  her.  Now  for  a  sally,  now  for 
a  dash  straight  for  Kerr.  The  shortest 
way  was  what  she  wanted.  Opening  doors  lately 
had  led  to  too  many  surprises.  She  pushed  aside 
the  long  curtains  and  stepped  out  through  the 
French  window  upon  the  veranda.  Rapidly  her 
eyes  swept  the  garden.  Far  down  between  the 
gray,  slim  branches  of  willows  at  last  she  made 
out  the  flutter  of  a  skirt.  She  sighed  relief  to 
think  Mrs.  Herrick  still  at  her  post,  and  began 
to  hurry  down  the  broad  unshaded  drive.  Her 
steps  sounded  loud  on  the  gravel,  and  presently 
to  her  excited  ears  they  sounded  double.  Then 
she  realized  the  truth.  Some  one  else  was  walking 
behind  her.  She  thought  by  not  looking  over  her 
422 


TO  U  C  H  E 

shoulder  she  could  avoid  stopping;  but  in  a  mo 
ment  Harry's  voice  hailed  her.  It  was  still  far 
enough  behind  for  her  to  hope  she  could  ignore 
it.  She  swept  on  as  if  she  had  not  heard.  Once 
around  the  turn  of  the  drive,  she  would  be  in 
sight  of  succor.  She  could  trust  to  Mrs.  Her- 
rick  to  manage  Harry.  She  made  a  little  rush 
around  the  loop  and  looked  down  the  long  vista 
of  the  willows. 

A  hundred  yards  distant  she  saw  the  two  stand 
ing.  Kerr  presented  his  back,  and  with  his  head 
a  little  canted  forward  seemed  to  listen,  absorbed 
in  his  companion.  But  that  companion  was  a 
smaller  figure  than  Mrs.  Herrick,  and  her  veil 
made  an  aura  of  filmy  white  around  her  face. 
The  sight  of  her  was  enough  to  stop  Flora  short, 
and  in  that  instant  Harry,  making  a  cut  across 
the  flower-beds,  caught  up  with  her.  He  stopped 
as  abruptly  as  she,  and  gazed  with  a  dismay  that 
surpassed  her  own.  For  an  instant  she  thought 
he  was  about  to  make  a  dash  down  the  walk  for 
them.  Then  he  caught  Flora's  hand  and  pulled 
her  back.  There  was  no  help  for  it,  she  thought. 
423 


THE     COAST    OF    CHANCE 

Her  other  hand  crept  downward  stealthily  and 
gathered  up  her  swinging  pouch  of  gold.  Trem 
bling,  she  let  him  drag  her  back,  but  when  they 
faced  each  other  behind  the  plumes  and  swords 
of  a  great  pampas  clump  she  was  shocked  at  the 
emotion  in  his  face;  and  as  if  what  he  had  just 
seen  had  given  the  last  touch,  his  voice  had  risen 
a  key,  and  between  every  half-dozen  words  it 
broke  for  breath. 

"Look  here,  Flora,"  he  began ;  "I  know  you've 
been  trying  to  give  me  the  slip  ever  since  night 
before  last.  I  frightened  you  then.  I  didn't 
mean  to,  but  you  had  no  business  to  keep  the 
ring  after  what  I  told  you.  No,  I'm  not  going 
to  touch  you,"  as  she  shrank  back  against  the 
pampas  swords,  "but  I  want  you  to  give  it  to 
me,  yourself,  right  here  and  now." 

She  looked  up  into  his  face,  burning  fiery 
in  the  sun  beating  down  on  his  bare  head.  "No, 
no,  Harry;  I  shan't  give  it  to  you.  Last  time 
I  said  I  would  give  it  to  you  for  a  good  reason, 
but  now  I  wouldn't  give  it  to  you  for  anything." 

"You  don't  know  what  you're  doing,"  he  cried. 
424 


TOUC  H  E 

"I  do ;  I  know  as  well  as  you  that  this  is  a  part 
of  the  Crew  Idol.  I've  known  it  all  along,  and 
when  the  time  comes  I'm  going  to  give  it  my 
self  to  Mr.  Purdie,  but  not  until  that  time." 

Harry  passed  his  hand  over  his  face  with  an 
inarticulate  sound.  Then,  "You  will  ruin  us !" 
he  choked. 

"I  shall  tell  the  truth,  whatever  comes,"  she 
exulted.  To  tell  the  truth  and  keep  on  telling 
it — that,  in  her  passion  of  relief  at  speaking  out 
at  last,  was  all  she  wanted !  But  Harry  fell  back. 
He  changed  countenance.  He  recovered  himself. 

"Look  here,  Flora;  if  you  do  I'm  going  to 
leave  you.  I'm  going  to  leave  you  to  what  you've 
chosen." 

She  met  it  steadily.  "I'm  glad  you  say  so. 
I've  been  thinking  for  days  that  it  would  be  bet 
ter  so." 

"Have  you?"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  looking 
at  her  earnestly.  "Of  course,  I  know  the  reason 
of  that.  I  meant  it  to  be  different,  but  now 
there's  no  help.  I — " 

With  a  motion  too  quick  for  her  to  escape  he 
425 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

stooped  and  kissed  her  lightly.  To  that  moment 
she  had  pitied  him,  but  his  touch  she  loathed. 
She  thrust  him  away  with  both  hands.  He 
turned.  Without  speaking,  without  looking  at 
her  again  he  walked  away.  She  watched  him  with 
a  desperate  feeling  of  being  abandoned,  of  losing 
something  powerful  and  valuable.  The  faint, 
thin  screech  of  a  locomotive  from  a  station  far 
down  the  line  made  him  pause,  and  turn,  and 
gaze  under  his  hand  in  the  strong  sun.  So  for  a 
moment  she  saw  him,  a  lowering,  peering  figure 
moving  away  from  her  over  the  lawn  between 
broad  flower-beds.  Then  he  disappeared  among 
the  shrubbery. 

This  encounter,  that  had  stopped  her  in  full 
open  field,  had  not  been  the  fatal  thing  she  had 
feared.  It  had  been  a  peril  met  that  nerved  her 
to  a  higher  courage.  Now  she  could  walk  gal 
lantly  to  the  most  uncertain  moment  of  her  life. 
Between  the  glimmering  willows  down  the  long 
still  avenue  she  passed,  her  flowing  draperies 
borne  backwards  as  by  triumphant  airs.  The 
426 


T  0  U  C  H  E 

wind  of  her  approach  seemed  to  reach  the  two 
still  far  in  front  of  her. 

They  turned  and  watched  her  drawing  nearer, 
and  before  she  had  quite  reached  them  Kerr 
stretched  out  his  hand  as  if  to  help  her  over  a 
last  rough  place,  and  drew  her  toward  him  and 
held  her  beside  him  with  his  fingers  lightly 
clasped  around  her  wrist.  She  saw  that  he  looked 
pale,  worn,  as  he  had  not  been  last  night,  and, 
what  struck  her  most  strangely,  angry.  The 
hand  that  held  hers  shook  with  the  violent  pulse 
that  was  beating  in  it.  He  turned  to  Clara. 

"Will  you  pardon  us,  Mrs.  Britton?"  Then 
after  another  patient  moment,  "Miss  Gilsey  has 
something  to  say  to  me."  Still  he  made  no  mo 
tion  to  move  away,  and  at  last  Clara  seemed  to 
understand  what  was  expected  of  her.  She 
flushed,  and  in  the  middle  of  that  color  her  eyes 
flashed  double  steel.  For  the  first  time  in  Flora's 
memory  she  was  at  a  loss.  She  passed  them  with 
out  a  word. 

Kerr  looked  after  the  little  brilliant  figure, 
427 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

moving  daintily  away  through  sun  and  shadow, 
with  deep  disgust  in  his  face.  But  when  he 
turned  to  Flora  disgust  lifted  to  high  severity. 
It  was  she  who  appeared  the  guilty  one,  and  he 
the  accuser. 

"Why  didn't  you  come,  last  night?" 

"I  couldn't.  He  was  there,  Harry,  outside  my 
door." 

"In  God's  name!  What  did  you  tell  him?" 

"Nothing.  We  did  not  speak — but  I  couldn't 
get  past  him!"  The  suspicion  in  his  face  was 
more  than  she  could  bear.  "You  must  believe 
me — for,  if  you  don't,  we're  both  lost !" 

He  had  her  by  both  wrists,  now,  and  gently 
made  her  face  him.  "I  have  believed  in  you  to 
the  extent  of  coming  alone  to  a  place  I  know 
nothing  of,  because  you  wanted  me.  Now  that 
I  am  here,  what  is  it  you  have  to  say  to  me?" 

"Oh,  nothing  more  than  I  have  said  before," 
she  pleaded;  "only  that,  ten  times  more  ear 
nestly." 

"You  extraordinary  child!"  At  first,  he  was 
pure  amazement.  "You've  brought  me  so  far, 
428 


TOUC  HE 

you've  come  so  far  yourself — you've  got  us  both 
here  in  such  danger,  to  tell  me  only  this?  How 
could  you  be  so  mad — so  cruel?" 

She  had  locked  her  hands  in  front  of  her 
until  the  nails  showed  white  with  the  pressure. 
"It  was  more  dangerous  there  than  here.  You 
don't  know  what  has  happened  since  I  saw  you. 
And  I  thought  if  you  and  I  could  only  be  alone 
together,  without  the  fear  of  them  always  be 
tween  us,  I  could  show  you,  I  could  persuade 
you — "  Before  his  look  she  broke  down.  "Well 
— you  see,  they  followed  us — they're  here." 

"Grant  it,  they  are."  He  seemed  to  laugh  at 
them.  "You  have  still  your  chance.  Give  every 
thing  to  me  and  I  can  save  you  still." 

"  'Save  me?'  Oh,  nothing  could  happen  to  me 
so  terrible  as  having  you  break  my  heart  like 
this !  If  I  should  give  the  sapphire  to  you  I 
should  lose  you — even  the  thought  of  you — for 
ever.  Nothing  could  ever  be  right  with  us  again ! 
Won't  you — "  she  pleaded,  "won't  you  go?"  and 
lifting  her  hands,  taking  his  face  between  them, 
"Won't  you,  because  I  love  you?" 
429 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

He  stood  steady  to  this  assault,  and  smiled 
down  upon  her.  "Without  you  and  without  it 
I  will  not  budge.  Come  now,  this  is  the  end.  I 
never  meant  to  do  another  thing." 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"Come,  come."  His  voice  was  urging  her,  now 
very  gentle.  "It's  more  for  your  sake  than  for 
the  jewel  now."  And  his  arm  around  her  shoul 
ders  was  gently  forcing  her  to  walk  beside  him 
not  toward  the  drive,  but  away  into  the  tree- 
grown  sheltered  wing  of  the  garden.  By  inter 
lacing  paths,  from  the  tremulous  gray  willows 
under  the  somber,  clashing  eucalyptus  spears, 
under  dark  wings  of  cypress  they  were  moving. 
She  was  bracing  in  every  nerve  against  the  un 
nerving  of  his  presence. 

It  had  been  always  so.  Even,  across  the  dis 
tance  of  a  room  the  mere  sight  of  him  had  had 
for  her  the  power  to  summon  those  wild  spirits 
of  the  soul  and  body  that  turn  reason  to  a  vapor. 
And  now  so  close,  with  his  arm  around  her,  that 
same  power  she  had  felt  when  she  saw  him  first, 
the  power  that  had  made  her  come  out  and  be 
430 


T  0  U  C  H  E 

herself  then,  the  power  that  had  overwhelmed 
her  in  the  little  restaurant,  was  leagued  against 
her  again  to  make  her  do  this  one  more  thing, 
which  she  wouldn't  do.  Never,  never!  Despair 
ing,  she  wondered  that  such  an  evil  motive  could 
have  such  strength. 

"Where  have  you  got  it  now?"  she  heard  him 
asking,  and  she  pointed  downward  toward  where 
the  pouch  at  her  knee  was  swinging  to  and  fro. 
"Take  it  up,  then,"  and  like  a  hypnotized  crea 
ture  she  gathered  it  into  her  hand.  But,  once  she 
had  it,  she  held  it  clenched  against  him. 

"You're  going  to  give  it  to  me,"  he  prompted, 
"aren't  you  ? — aren't  you  ?"  and  looking  steadily 
in  her  face  his  hand  shut  softly  on  her  wrist,  and 
held  out  her  clenched  hand  in  front  of  her.  And 
still  they  walked,  slowly.  Like  a  pendulum  the 
long  gold  chain  swung  from  her  clenched  fingers. 
To  the  tree-top  birds  they  seemed  as  quiet  as  two 
lovers  speaking  of  their  wedding-day.  She  felt 
her  tension  give  way  in  this  quiet — her  hand 
relax. 

"Dearest."  The  word  brought  up  her  eyes  to 
431 


THE     COAS'T     OF     CHANCE 

his  with  a  start  of  tenderness.  "Open  it,"  he 
said,  and  her  hand,  involuntarily,  sprung  the 
pouch  wide.  They  stared  together  into  it.  The 
little  hollow  golden  shell  was  empty. 

For  a  moment  it  held  her  incredulous.  Then, 
faint  and  sick,  all  the  foundations  of  her  faith 
reeling,  she  slowly  raised  her  eyes  to  him  in  ac 
cusation.  She  was  not  ready  for  the  terrible 
sternness  in  his. 

"Have  you  lied  to  me?"  he  asked  in  a  low 
voice.  "Have  you  given  it  to  Cressy  ?" 

"No,  no,  no!"  she  cried  in  horror.  "It  was 
there!  I  put  it  there  myself  this  morning!" 
They  looked  at  each  other  now  equally  sincere 
and  aghast. 

"But  you  have  seen  him;  you've  been  near 
him?"  he  demanded. 

She  gasped  out  the  whole  truth.  "This  morn 
ing  !  He  left  me.  He  kissed  me." 

"Then,  my  God,  where  is  he?"    He  gave  a 
wide  glance  around  him.   Then  raising  his  voice, 
"Stay  where  you  are !"  he  commanded,  and  be 
gan  to  run  from  her  through  the  trees. 
432 


TO  UC  HE 

She  stood  with  her  hand  to  her  breast,  with 
the  empty  pouch  spinning  in  front  of  her,  hear 
ing  him  crashing  in  the  shrubbery.  Then,  in  sud 
den  panic  at  finding  herself  alone,  she  fled  back 
down  the  willow  avenue,  and  burst  out  on  the 
broad  drive  in  full  view  of  the  house. 

Kerr  was  not  in  sight,  but  there  was  a  tremor 
of  disturbance  where  all  had  been  still.  Clara's 
face  appeared  at  one  of  the  upper  windows  and 
looked  down  into  the  garden.  Then  Mrs.  Herrick 
came  down  the  stairs,  and,  showing  an  anxious 
profile  as  she  passed  the  door,  hurried  away 
along  the  lower  hall.  There  was  a  flutter  in  the 
servants'  quarter,  and  from  a  side  door  the 
coachman  appeared  hatless,  in  his  shirt  sleeves, 
and  ran  toward  the  stable.  All  the  people  of  the 
house  seemed  to  be  running  to  and  fro,  but  she 
didn't  see  Harry.  This  struck  her  with  unrea 
soning  terror.  She  fled  up  the  drive,  and  Clara's 
small  face  at  the  window  watched  her. 

As  she  came  into  the  hall  she  heard  Kerr's 
voice.  He  was  at  the  telephone  speaking  names 
she  had  never  heard  in  sentences  whose  meaning 
433 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

was  too  much  for  her  stunned  senses  to  take  in ; 
but  none  the  less  while  she  listened  the  feeling 
crept  over  her  that  there  was  some  strange  revo 
lution  taking  place  in  him.  It  might  be  trans 
formation  ;  it  might  be  only  a  swift  increase  of 
his  original  power.  Whatever  it  was,  he  seemed 
to  her  superhuman.  The  house  was  full  of  him 
— full  of  his  rapid  movement,  his  ringing  orders. 
If  he  knew  that  the  sapphire  was  gone,  what  was 
the  meaning  of  this  bold  command?  Was  he, 
knowing  all  lost,  plunging  gallantly  into  the 
clutches  of  his  enemies?  Or  was  this  only  a 
blind,  a  splendid  piece  of  effrontery  to  cover  his 
too  long  delayed  retreat?  She  sat  like  a  jointless 
thing  on  the  fauteuil  in  the  large  hall,  and  all  at 
once  saw  him  in  front  of  her. 

She  looked  at  his  hat,  his  overcoat,  his  slim, 
glittering  stick — all  symbols  of  departure. 

"Wait  here,"  he  said,  and  turned  away. 

She  watched  his  shadow  dance  across  the  flag 
ging,  and  as  it  slipped  over  the  threshold  she 
thought  dully  that  now  the  sapphire  was  gone 
every  one  was  going  from  her. 
434 


XXIV 

THE    COMIC    MASK 

SHE  listened  to  the  sound  of  wheels,  first 
rattling  loud  on  the  gravel,  slowly  grow 
ing  fainter.  Then  stillness  was  with 
her  again,  and  inanition.  She  looked  around  and 
up,  and  had  no  start  at  seeing  Clara's  small  face 
watching  her  over  the  gallery  of  the  rotunda. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  appearance  was  natural 
to  her  existence  now,  like  her  shadow.  She 
looked  away.  When  she  raised  her  eyes  again 
Clara  was  coming  down  the  stairs,  and  even  at 
that  distance  Flora  saw  she  carried  something 
in  her  hand — something  flat  and  small  and 
wrapped  in  a  filmy  bit  of  paper. 

Out  of  the  chaos  of  her  feeling  rose  the  soli 
tary  thought — the  picture  which  she  had  bought 
that  morning,  the  picture  of  Farrell  Wand.   She 
435 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

watched  it  drawing  near  her  with  wonder.  She 
sat  up  trembling.  She  had  a  great  longing  and 
a  horror  to  tear  away  the  filmy  paper  and  see 
Kerr  at  last  brutally  revealed.  She  could  not 
have  told  afterward  whether  Clara  spoke  to  her. 
She  was  conscious  of  her  pausing;  conscious  of 
the  faint  rustle  of  her  skirt  passing ;  conscious, 
finally,  that  the  small  swathed  square  was  in  her 
hand. 

She  tore  the  tissue  paper  through.  She  held 
a  photograph,  a  mounted  kodak  print.  She  made 
out  the  background  to  be  sky  and  water  and  the 
rail  of  a  ship  with  silhouettes  of  heads  and  shoul 
ders,  a  jungle  of  black;  and  in  the  middle  dis 
tance  caught  in  full  motion  the  single  figure  of  a 
man,  back  turned  and  head  in  profile.  He  was 
moving  from  her  out  of  the  picture,  and  with  the 
first  look  she  knew  it  was  not  Kerr. 

Her  first  thought  was  that  there  had1  been  a 
trick  played  on  her !  But  no — across  the  bottom 
of  the  picture,  in  Judge  Buller's  full  round  hand, 
was  written,  "Farrell  Wand  boarding  the  Loch 
Ettive"  She  held  it  high  to  the  light.  Clara 


THE     COMIC     MASK 

had  been  faithful  to  her  bargain.  It  was  the 
picture  that  had  deceived  her.  She  studied  it 
with  passionate  earnestness.  She  did  not  know 
the  bearded  profile;  but  in  the  burly  shoulders, 
in  the  set  and  swing  of  the  body  in  motion,  more 
than  all  in  the  lowering,  peering  aspect  of  the 
whole  figure,  she  began  to  see  a  familiar  some 
thing.  She  held  it  away  from  her  by  both  thin 
edges,  and  that  aspect  swelled  and  swelled  in  her 
startled  eyes,  until  suddenly  the  figure  in  the 
picture  seemed  to  be  moving  from  her,  not  up  a 
gang-plank,  but  through  a  glare  of  sun  over 
grass  between  broad  beds  of  flowers. 

She  was  faint.  She  was  going  to  fall.  She 
caught  at  the  chair  to  save  herself,  and  still  she 
was  dropping  down,  down,  into  a  gulf  of  spin 
ning  darkness.  "Oh,  Harry !"  she  whispered, 
and  let  her  head  roll  back  against  the  arm  of  the 
fauteuil. 

With  a  dim  sense  of  .rising  through  immeas 
urable  distances  back  to  light  she  opened  her 
eyes.  She  saw  Mrs.  Herrick's  face,  and  as  this 

437 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

was  connected  in  her  mind  with  protection  she 
smiled. 

"Do  you  feel  better?"  Mrs.  Herrick  asked  her. 
Then  she  opened  her  eyes  wide  and  saw  the  walls 
and  the  high-arched  ceiling  of  the  hall  directly 
above  her,  knew  herself  lying  on  the  floor,  saw 
above  her  the  figure  of  Clara  standing  with  a 
bottle  of  salts,  and  then  remembered;  and,  with 
a  moan,  buried  her  face  in  Mrs.  Herrick' s  lap. 
"Oh,  no,  no,  no;  don't  bring' me  back;  I  don't 
want  to  come  back !" 

Their  voices  sounding  high  above  her  were 
speaking.  Mrs.  Herrick  said:  "What  is  that?" 
Then  Clara  murmured.  Then  there  was  the  light 
rustling  of  paper.  Flora  moved  her  hand. 

"Give  it  to  me ;  I  want  it."  She  felt  the  stiff 
little  square  of  cardboard  between  her  fingers, 
and  closed  them  around  it  fast. 

After  a  little  she  went  up-stairs  holding  tight 
to  the  baluster  with  one  hand  and  to  Mrs.  Her 
rick  with  the  other.  After  a  little  of  sitting  on 
the  edge  of  her  bed  she  lay  down,  still  holding 
to  Mrs.  Herrick.  She  felt  as  though  some  cord 
438 


THE     COMIC     MASK 

within  her  had  been  drawn  tight,  too  tight  to 
endure,  and  every  moment  she  hoped  it  would 
snap  and  set  her  free. 

"You  don't  think  I'm  mad,  do  you  ?"  she  asked. 
Her  friend  earnestly  disclaimed  it.  "Then  things 
are,"  Flora  said,  "everything.  Oh,  oh!"  The 
memory  overwhelmed  her.  "He  took  me  there 
as  if  by  chance!  He  gave  the  sapphire  to  me 
for  my  engagement  ring.  Oh,  dreadful!  Oh, 
poor  Harry !" 

All  that  afternoon  and  all  night  she  slept  fit 
fully,  starting  up  at  intervals,  trembling  at 
nameless  horrors — the  glittering  goldsmith's 
shop,  the  Chinaman,  the  great  eye  of  the  sap 
phire,  and,  worst  of  all,  Harry's  face,  always 
the  same  calm,  ruddy,  good-natured,  innocent- 
looking  face  that  had  led  her  to  the  goldsmith's 
shop,  that  had  smiled  at  her,  falling  under  the 
spell  of  the  sapphire,  that  had  covered,  all  those 
days,  God  knew  what  ravages  of  stress  and 
strain,  until  the  man  had  finally  broken.  That  face 
appeared  and  reappeared  through  the  flashing 
terrors  of  her  dreams  like  the  presiding  genius 
489 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

of  them  all.  Finally,  drifting  into  complete  re 
pose,  she  slept  far  into  the  morning. 

She  wakened  languid  and  weak.  She  lay  look 
ing  about  the  room,  and,  like  a  person  recover 
ing  after  a  heavy  blow,  wondering  what  had  hap 
pened.  Then  her  hand,  as  with  her  first  waking 
thought  it  had  done  for  the  last  week,  went  to 
the  locket  chain  around  her  neck.  Oh,  yes,  yes ; 
she  had  forgotten.  The  sapphire  was  gone. 
Gone  by  fraud,  gone  at  a  kiss  for  ever  with 
Harry — no,  with  Farrell  Wand. 

For  Harry  was  not  Harry ;  and  Kerr  was  not 
Farrell  Wand.  He  was  indeed  an  unknown  quan 
tity.  Since  she  had  found  Harry  she  had  lost 
both  Kerr's  name  and  his  place  in  her  fairy-tale. 
She  had  seen  his  very  demeanor  change  before 
her  eyes.  Indeed,  her  hour  had  come  without 
her  knowing  it.  The  spell  had  been  snapped 
which  had  made  him  wear  the  semblance  of  evil. 
His  sinister  form  was  dissolving ;  but  what  was 
to  be  his  identity  when  finally  he  stood  before 
her  restored  and  perfect?  If  he  were  not  the 
thief  whom  she  had  struggled  so  to  shield,  why, 
440 


THE     COMIC     MASK 

then  he  was  that  very  strength  of  law  and  right 
which,  for  his  sake,  she  had  betrayed. 

She  sat  up  quickened  with  humiliation.  The 
thing  was  not  a  tragedy,  it  was  a  grotesque. 
Blushing  more  and  more  crimson,  struggling 
with  strange  mingled  crying  and  laughter,  she 
slipped  out  of  the  bed,  and,  still  in  her  night 
gown,  ran  down  the  hall,  and  knocked  on  Mrs. 
Herrick's  door,  until  the  dismayed  lady  opened 
it. 

"I  thought  it  was  he,"  Flora  gasped.  "I 
thought  it  was  he  who  had  taken  the  ring !  Why 
didn't  he  tell  me?  Why  did  he  keep  it  secret?  I 
would  have  done  anything  to  have  saved  it  for 
him,  and  I  let  Harry  get  it!  Oh,  isn't  it  cruel? 
Isn't  it  pitiful?  Isn't  it  ridiculous?" 

Mrs.  Herrick,  who,  for  the  last  thirty-six 
hours,  had  so  departed  from  her  curriculum  of 
safety,  and  courageously  met  many  strange  ap 
pearances,  now  was  to  hear  stranger  facts.  For 
Flora  had  let  go  completely,  and  Mrs.  Herrick, 
without  hinting  at  hysterics,  let  her  laugh,  let 
her  cry,  let  her  tell  piece  by  piece,  as  she  could, 
441 


THE     COAST    OF    CHANCE 

the  story  of  the  two  men,  from  the  night  when 
Kerr  had  spoken  so  strangely  at  the  club  on  the 
virtues  of  thieves  to  the  moment  when,  in  the 
willow  walk,  they  discovered  that  the  jewel  was 
gone.  Clara's  part  in  the  affair,  and  the  price 
she  had  exacted,  even  in  this  unnerved  moment, 
Flora's  instinct  withheld,  to  save  Mrs.  Herrick 
the  last  cruelest  touch.  But  for  the  rest — she  let 
Mrs.  Herrick  have  it  all — and  under  the  shadow 
of  the  grim  facts  the  two  women  clung  together, 
as  if  to  make  sure  of  their  own  identities. 

"I  don't  even  know  who  he  is,"  Flora  said 
faintly. 

Mrs.  Herrick  gave  her  a  quick  glance.  She 
had  not  a  moment's  hesitation  as  to  whom  the 
*'he"  meant.  "You  will  have  to  ask  him  when  he 
comes." 

"Do  you  think  he  will  come  back  ?" 

Mrs.  Herrick  had  the  heart  to  smile. 

"But  think  of  what  I  have  done.  I  have  lost 
him  the  sapphire,  and  he  loves  it — loves  it  as 
much  as  he  does  me." 

Again  the  glance.   "Did  he  tell  you  that?" 
442 


THE     COMIC     MASK 

Flora  nodded.  The  other  seemed  intently  to 
consider.  "He  will  come  back,"  she  declared. 

Upheld  by  her  friend's  assurance,  Flora 
found  the  endurance  necessary  to  spend  the  day, 
an  empty,  stagnant  day,  in  moving  about  a 
house  and  garden  where  a  few  hours  ago  had 
passed  such  a  storm  of  events.  She  reviewed 
them,  lived  them  over  again,  but  without  taking 
account  of  them.  Her  mind,  that  had  worked  so 
sharply,  was  now  in  abeyance.  She  lived  in  emo 
tion,  but  with  a  tantalizing  sense  of  something 
unexplained  which  her  understanding  had  not 
the  power  to  reach  out  to  and  grasp.  For  a  day 
more  she  existed  under  the  same  roof  with  Clara, 
for  Clara  stayed  on. 

At  first  it  seemed  to  Flora  extraordinary  that 
she  dared,  but  presently  it  began  to  appear  how 
much  more  extraordinary  it  would  have  been  if 
Clara  had  promptly  fled.  By  waiting  a  dis 
creet  length  of  time,  as  if  nothing  had  happened, 
she  put  herself  indubitably  on  the  right  side  of 
things.  Indeed,  when  one  thought,  had  she  ever 
been  legally  off  it? 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

That  was  the  very  horror.  Clara  had  simply 
turned  the  situation  over  and  seen  its  market 
value,  and  how  enormously  she  had  made  it  pay ! 
Flora  herself  had  paid;  and  she  had  seen  the 
evidence  that  Harry  had  paid,  paid  for  his  poor 
little  hour  of  escape  which  a  mere  murderer 
might  have  granted  him  in  pity.  Yet  Clara 
could  walk  beside  them,  meet  them  at  dinner  with 
the  same  smooth  face,  chat  upon  the  terrace  with 
the  unsuspecting  Mrs.  Herrick,  and  even  face 
Flora  in  a  security  which  had  the  appearance  of 
serenity,  since  she  knew  that  nothing  ever  would 
be  told.  At  every  turn  in  the  day's  business 
Flora  kept  meeting  that  placid  presence ;  and  it 
was  not  until  the  end  of  the  day  that  she  met  it 
primed  for  departure.  Flora  was  with  Mrs. 
Herrick,  and  Clara,  coming  to  seek  them  out, 
had  an  air  of  casual  farewell.  The  small,  sweet 
smile  she  presented  behind  her  misty  veil,  the 
delicate  white-gloved  hand  she  offered  were  sym 
bols  of  enduring  friendship,  as  if  she  were  leav 
ing  them  only  for  a  few  hours ;  as  if,  when  Flora 
returned  to  town,  she  would  find  Clara  waiting 
444 


THE     COMIC     MASK 

for  them  in  the  house.  But  Flora  knew  it  was 
only  Clara's  wonderful  way.  This  uprising  and 
departure  were  her  last. 

Now  all  her  waiting  was  for  Kerr's  return 
ing.  She  did  not  know  how  she  should  face 
him,  but  she  wanted  him.  A  telegram  came  an 
hour  before  him,  came  to  Mrs.  Herrick  an 
nouncing  him ;  and  then  himself,  driven  up  on 
the  high  scat  of  the  cart,  just  as  daylight  was 
closing.  She  and  Mrs.  Herrick  had  walked  half 
way  out  toward  the  rose  garden;  and,  seeing 
them  there,  he  stopped  the  cart  in  the  drive, 
leaped  down  and  ran  across  the  grass.  Both 
hurried  to  meet  him.  The  three  encountered  like 
friends,  like  intimates,  with  hand-clasps  and 
hurried  glances  searching  each  other's  faces. 

"Did  you  save  it?"  Flora  asked. 

He  looked  at  Mrs.  Herrick,  hesitating. 

"You  can  tell,  she  knows,"  Flora  assured  him. 

"No,  I  haven't  saved  it — not  so  far,"  he  said. 

He  had  taken  off  his  hat  and  the  strong  light 

showed  on  his  face  lines  of  fatigue  and  anxiety. 

"He  gave  me  the  slip — no  trace  of  him.  No  one 

445 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

saw  him  come  into  the  city;  nothing  turned  up 
in  the  goldsmith's  shop.  His  friend,  the  blue- 
eyed  Chinaman,  has  dropped  out  of  sight.  I 
haven't  made  it  public,"  he  glanced  at  Flora — • 
"but  our  men  think  he's  gone  out  by  the  water 
route — Lord  knows  in  what  or  where !  He  must 
have  had  this  planned  for  days."  He  didn't 
look  at  Flora  now.  He  turned  his  communica 
tion  carefully  on  Mrs.  Herrick.  "There  were 
seven  vessels  sailed,  that  day,  and  all  were 
searched;  but  there  are  ways  of  smuggling 
opium,  and  why  not  men?" 

They  were  walking  toward  the  house.  Kerr 
looked  up  at  the  window  where,  a  short  time  be 
fore,  Clara's  face  had  looked  down  upon  the  con 
fusion  in  the  garden. 

"Is  that  paid  woman  still  here?" 

"Oh,  no;  she's  gone."  Flora  looked  at  him 
warningly.  But  Mrs.  Herrick  had  caught  his 
tone.  "Why  shouldn't  she  be?"  she  demanded 
with  delicate  asperity. 

Kerr  had  dropped  his  monocle.  "Because,  in 
446 


THE     COMIC     MASK 

common  decency,  she  couldn't.    She  sold  Cressy 
to  me  for  a  good  round  sum." 

Flora  and  Mrs.  Herrick  exchanged  a  look  of 
horror. 

"I'd  suspected  him,"  said  Kerr.  "I  knew 
where  I'd  seen  him,  but  I  couldn't  be  sure  of  liis 
identity  till  she  showed  me  the  picture." 

"What  picture?"  cried  Flora. 

"The  picture  Buller  mentioned  at  the  club 
that  night:  Farrell  Wand,  boarding  the  Loch 
Ettive.  Don't  you  remember?"  He  spoke 
gently,  as  if  afraid  that  a  hasty  phrase  in  such 
connection  might  do  her  harm.  Now,  when  he 
saw  how  white  she  looked,  he  steadied  her  with 
his  arm.  "We  won't  talk  of  this  business  any 
more,"  he  said. 

"But  I  must  talk  of  it,"  Flora  insisted  trem 
blingly.  "I  don't  even  know  what  you  are." 

For  the  first  time  he  showed  apologetic.  He 
looked  from  one  to  the  other  with  a  sort  of  help 
less  simplicity. 

"Why,  I'm  Chatworth— I'm  Crew;  I'm  the 
chap  that  owns  the  confounded  thing!" 
447 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

To  see  him  stand  there,  announced  in  that 
name,  gave  the  tragic  farce  its  last  touch.  Flora 
had  an  instant  of  panic  when  flight  seemed  the 
solution.  It  took  all  her  courage  to  keep  her 
there,  facing  him,  watching,  as  if  from  afar 
off,  Mrs.  Herrick's  acknowledgment  of  the  in 
formal  introduction. 

"I  came  here,  quietly,"  he  was  saying,  "so  as 
to  get  at  it  without  making  a  row.  Only  Purdie, 
good  man!  knew — and  he's  been  wondering  all 
along  why  I've  held  so  heavy  a  hand  on  him. 
We'll  have  to  lunch  with  them  again,  eh?"  He 
turned  and  looked  at  Flora.  "And  make  all  those 
explanations  necessitated  by  this  lady's  wonder 
ful  sense  of  honor !" 

It  was  here,  somewhere  in  the  neighborhood 
of  this  sentence  of  doubtful  meaning,  that  Mrs. 
Herrick  left  them.  In  looking  back,  Flora  could 
never  recall  the  exact  moment  of  the  departure. 
But  when  she  raised  her  eyes  from  the  grass 
where  they  had  been  fixed  for  what  seemed  to 
her  eternity  she  found  only  Kerr — no,  Chatworth 
448 


THE     COMIC     MASK 

— standing  there,  looking  at  her  with  a  grave 
face. 

"Eh?"  he  said,  "and  what  about  that  honor 
of  yours  ?  What  shall  we  say  about  it,  now  that 
the  sapphire's  gone  and  no  longer  in  our  way?" 

She  was  breathing  quick  to  keep  from  crying. 
"I  told  you  that  day  at  the  restaurant." 

"Yes,  yes;  you  told  me  why  you  kept  the 
sapphire  from  me,  but" — he  hung  fire,  then 
fetched  it  out  with  an  effort — "why  did  you  take 
it  in  the  first  place  ?" 

She  looked  at  him  in  clear  astonishment.  "I 
didn't  know  what  it  was." 

"You  didn't !" 

It  seemed  to  Flora  the  whole  situation  was 
turning  exactly  inside  out.  The  light  that  was 
breaking  upon  her  was  more  than  she  could  bear. 
"Oh,"  she  wailed,  "you  couldn't  have  thought  I 
meant  to  take  it !" 

"Then  if  you  didn't,"  he  burst  out,  "why, 
when  I  told  you  what  it  was,  didn't  you  give  it 
to  me?" 

449 


THB     COAST    OF    CHANCE 

The  cruel  comic  muse,  who  makes  our  serious 
suffering  ridiculous,  had  drawn  aside  the  last 
curtain.  Flora  felt  the  laughter  rising  in  her 
throat,  the  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"You  guessed  who  I  was,"  he  insisted,  ad 
vancing,  "at  least  what  I  represented." 

She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  her  voice 
dropped,  tiny,  into  the  stillness. 

"I  guessed  you  were  Farrell  Wand." 


450 


XXV 

THE    LAST    ENCHANTMENT 

THE  tallest  eucalyptus  top  was  all  of  the 
garden  that  was  touched  with  sun  when 
Flora  came  out  of  the  house  in  the 
morning.  She  stood  a  space  looking  at  that  lit 
tle  cone  of  brightness  far  above  all  the  other 
trees,  swaying  on  the  delicate  sky.  It  was  not 
higher  lifted  nor  brighter  burnished  than  her 
spirit  then.  Shorn  of  her  locket  chain,  her 
golden  pouch,  free  of  her  fears,  she  poised  look 
ing  over  the  garden.  Then  with  a  leap  she  went 
from  the  veranda  to  the  grass  and,  regardless 
of  dew,  skimmed  the  lawn  for  the  fountain  and 
the  rose  garden. 

There  she  saw  him — the  one  man — already 
awaiting  her.    He  stood  back  to  back  with  a 
mossy  nymph  languishing  on  her  pedestal,  and 
451 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

Flora  hoped  by  running  softly  to  steal  up  be 
hind  him,  and  make  of  the  helpless  marble  lady 
a  buffer  between  their  greetings.  But  either  she 
underestimated  the  nymph's  bulk,  or  forgot  how 
invariably  direct  was  the  man's  attack ;  for  turn 
ing  and  seeing  her,  without  any  circumvention, 
with  one  sweep  of  his  long  arm,  he  included  the 
statue  in  his  grasp  of  her.  With  a  laugh  of  tri 
umph  he  drew  her  out  of  her  concealment. 

To  her  the  splendor  of  skies  and  trees  and 
morning  light  melted  into  that  wonderful  mo 
ment.  For  the  first  time  in  weary  days  she  had 
all  to  give,  nothing  to  fear  or  withhold.  She 
was  at  peace.  She  was  ready  to  stop,  to  stand 
here  in  her  life  for  always — here  in  the  glowing 
garden  with  him,  and  their  youth.  But  he  was 
impatient.  He  did  not  want  to  loiter  in  the 
morning.  He  was  hot  to  hurry  on  out  of  the 
present  which  was  so  mysterious,  so  untried  to 
her,  as  if  these  ecstasies  had  no  mystery  to  him 
but  their  complete  fulfilment.  He  filled  her  with 
a  trembling  premonition  of  the  undreamed-of 
452 


THE     LAST     ENCHANTMENT 

t 
things  that  were  waiting  for  her  in  the  long  aisle 

of  life. 

"Come,  speak,"  he  urged,  as  they  paced 
around  the  fountain.  "When  am  I  to  take  you 
away  ?" 

She  hung  back  in  fear  of  her  very  eagerness 
to  go,  to  plunge  head  over  ears  into  life  in  a 
strange  country  with  a  stranger.  "Next  month," 
she  ventured. 

"Next  month!  why  not  next  week?  why  not 
to-morrow?"  he  declared  with  confidence.  "Who 
is  to  say  no?  I  am  the  head  of  my  house  and 
you  have  no  one  but  me.  To  be  sure,  there  is 
Mrs.  Herrick — excellent  woman.  But  she  has 
her  own  daughters  to  look  out  for,  and,"  he 
added  slyly,  "much  as  she  thinks  of  you,  I  doubt 
if  she  thinks  you  a  good  example  for  them.  As 
for  that  other,  as  for  the  paid  woman — " 

"Oh,  hush,  hush!"  Flora  cried,  hurt  with  a 
certain  hardness  in  his  voice;  "I  don't  want  to 
see  her.  I  shall  never  go  near  her!  And 
Harry—" 

453 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

"I  wasn't  going  to  speak  of  him,"  said  Chat- 
worth  quickly. 

"I  know,"  she  answered,  "but  do  you  mind 
my  speaking  of  him?"  They  had  sat  down  on 
the  broad  lip  of  the  fountain  basin.  He  was 
looking  at  her  intently.  "It  is  strange,"  she 
said,  "but  in  spite  of  his  doing  this  terrible  thing 
I  can't  feel  that  he  himself  is  terrible — like 
Clara." 

"And  yet,"  he  answered  in  a  grave  voice,  "I 
would  rather  you  did." 

She  turned  a  troubled  face.  "Ah,  have  you 
forgotten  what  you  said  the  first  night  I  met 
you?  You  said  it  doesn't  matter  what  a  man  is, 
even  if  he's  a  thief,  as  long  as  he's  a  good  one." 

At  this  he  laughed  a  little  grudgingly.  "Oh, 
I  don't  go  back  on  that,  but  I  was  looking 
through  the  great  impartial  eye  of  the  universe. 
Whereas  a  man  may  be  good  of  his  kind,  he's 
only  good  in  his  kind.  Tip  out  a  cat  among 
canaries  and  see  what  happens.  My  dear  girl, 
we  were  the  veriest  birds  in  his  paws !  And  no 
tice  that  it  isn't  moral  law — it's  instinct.  We 
454 


THE     LAST     ENCHANTMENT 

recognize  by  scent  before  we  see  the  shape.  You 
never  knew  him.  You  never  could.  And  you 
never  trusted  him." 

"But,"  she  interrupted  eagerly,  "I  would 
have  done  anything  for  you  when  I  thought  you 
were  a  thief." 

"Anything?"  he  caught  her  up  with  laughter. 
"Oh,  yes,  anything  to  haul  me  over  the  dead  line 
on  to  your  side.  That  was  the  very  point  you 
made.  That  was  where  you  would  have  dropped 
me — if  I  had  stuck  by  my  kind,  as  you  thought 
it,  and  not  come  over  to  yours." 

She  saw  herself  fairly  caught.  She  heard  her 
mental  process  stated  to  perfection. 

"But  if  you  hadn't  felt  all  along  I  was  your 
kind,  if  you  hadn't  had  an  idea  that  I  was  a  stray 
from  the  original  fold,  you  would  never  have 
wanted  to  go  in  for  me,"  he  explained  it. 

Flora  had  her  doubts  about  the  truth  of 
this.  For  a  time  she  had  been  certain  of  his 
belonging  to  the  lawless  other  fold,  and  at  times 
she  would  have  gone  with  him  in  spite  of  it,  but 
this  last  knowledge  she  withheld.  She  withheld 
455 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

it  because  she  could  make  out  now,  that,  for  all 
his  seeming  wildness,  he  had  no  lawless  instincts 
in  himself.  Generations  of  great  doing  and 
great  mixing  among  men  had  created  him,  a 
creature  perfectly  natural  and  therefore  eccen 
tric  ;  but  the  same  generations  had  handed  down 
from  father  to  son  the  law-abiding  instinct  of 
the  rulers  of  the  people.  He  could  be  careless  of 
the  law.  He  was  strong  in  it.  In  his  own  mind 
he  and  the  law  were  one.  His  perception  of  the 
relations  of  life  was  so  complete  that  he  had  no 
further  use  for  the  written  law;  and  Farrell 
Wand's  was  so  limited  that  he  had  never  found 
the  use  for  it.  Lawless  both ;  but — the  two  ex 
tremes.  They  might  seem  to  meet — but  between 
those  two  extremes,  between  a  Chatworth  and  a 
Farrell  Wand — why,  there  was  all  the  world's 
experience  between ! 

She  raised  her  eyes  and  smiled  at  him  in  think 
ing  of  it,  but  the  smile  faltered  and  she  drew 
away.  They  were  about  to  be  disturbed.  Be 
yond  the  rose  branches  far  down  the  drive  she 
saw  a  figure  moving  toward  them  at  a  slow,  un- 
456 


THE     LAST     ENCHANTMENT 

certain  pace,  looking  to  and  fro.  "See,  there's 
some  one  coming." 

"Oh,  the  gardener !"  he  said  as  one  would  say 
"Oh,  fiddlesticks!" 

The  gardener  had  been  her  first  thought. 
But  now  she  rose  uneasily,  since  she  saw  it  was 
not  he,  asking  herself,  "Who  else,  at  such  an 
hour?" 

By  this  time  Chatworth,  still  seated,  had 
caught  sight  of  it.  "Hello,"  he  said,  "what  sort 
of  a  thing  is  that?" 

It  was  a  short,  shabby,  nondescript  little  fig 
ure,  shuffling  rapidly  along  the  winding  walk 
between  the  rose  bushes.  Now  they  saw  the  top 
of  his  round  black  felt  hat.  Now  only  a  twin 
kling  pair  of  legs.  Now,  around  the  last  clump 
of  bushes  he  appeared  full  length,  and,  suddenly 
dropping  his  businesslike  shuffle,  approached 
them  at  a  languid  walk. 

Flora  grasped  Chatworth's  arm  in  nervous 
terror.  "Tell  him  to  go,"  she  whispered ;  "make 
him  go  away." 

The  blue-eyed  Chinaman  was  planted  before 
457 


THE    COAST    OF    CHANCE 

them  stolidly,  with  the  curious  blind  look  of  his 
guarded  eyes  blinking  in  his  withered  face.  He 
wore  for  the  first  time  the  blouse  of  his  people, 
and  his  hands  were  folded  in  his  sleeves. 

"Who's  this?"  said  Chatworth,  appealing  to 
Flora. 

At  this  the  Chinaman  spoke.  "Mr.  Crew,"  he 
croaked. 

The  Englishman,  looking  from  the  Oriental 
to  Flora,  still  demanded  explanations  with  ex 
postulating  gesture. 

"It  is  the  man  who  sold  us  the  sapphire,"  she 
whispered ;  and  "Oh,  what  does  he  want  of  you  ?" 

"Eh?"  said  Chatworth,  interrogating  the 
goldsmith  with  his  monocle.  "What  do  you 
want?" 

The  little  man  finished  his  long,  and,  what 
had  seemed  his  blind,  stare;  then  dived  into  his 
sleeve.  He  drew  forth  a  crumpled  thing  which 
seemed  to  be  a  pellet  and  this  he  proceeded  to  un 
fold.  Flora  crept  cautiously  forward,  loath  to 
come  near,  but  curious,  and  saw  him  spread  out 
and  hold  up  a  roughly  torn  triangle  of  news- 
458 


THE     LAST     ENCHANTMENT 

paper.  She  gave  a  cry  at  sight  of  it.  Across  the 
top  in  thick  black  type  ran  the  figures  $20,000. 

Chatworth  pointed  a  stern  forefinger.  "What 
is  it?"  he  said,  though  by  his  tone  he  knew. 

The  Chinaman  also  pointed  at  it,  but  cautious 
and  apologetic.  "Twenty  thousand  dollar.  You 
likee  twenty  thousand  dollar?"  He  waited  a  mo 
ment.  Then,  with  a  glimmer  as  of  returning 
sight,  presented  the  alternative.  "You  likee  god? 
— little  joss? — come  so?"  And  with  his  finger 
he  traced  in  the  air  a  curve  of  such  delicate 
accuracy  that  the  Englishman  with  an  ex 
clamation  made  a  step  toward  him.  But  the 
Chinaman  did  not  move.  "Twenty  thousand  dol 
lar,"  he  stated.  It  sounded  an  impersonal 
statement,  but  nevertheless  it  was  quite  evident 
this  time  to  whom  it  applied. 

The  Englishman  measured  off  his  words 
slowly  as  if  to  an  incomplete  understanding, 
which  Flora  was  aware  was  all  too  miraculously 
quick.  "This  little  god,  this  ring — do  you  know 
where  it  is  ?  Can  you  take  me  to  it  ?" 

The  goldsmith  nodded  emphatically  at  each 
459 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

word,  but  when  all  was  said  he  only  reiterated, 
"Twenty  thousand  dollar." 

Chatworth  gave  Flora  an  almost  shamefaced 
glance,  and  she  saw  with  a  curious  twinge  of 
jealousy  that  he  was  intensely  excited.  "Might 
as  well  have  a  pot-shot  at  it,"  he  said;  and  sit 
ting  down  on  the  edge  of  the  fountain  and  tak 
ing  out  his  check-book,  rested  it  on  his  knee  and 
wrote.  Then  he  rose;  he  held  up  the  filled-in 
slip  before  the  Chinaman's  eyes. 

"Here,"  he  said,  "twenty  thousand  dollars." 
He  held  the  paper  well  out  of  the  little  man's 
reach.  "Now,"  he  challenged,  "tell  me  where 
it  is?" 

Into  the  goldsmith's  eyes  came  a  lightning 
flash  of  intelligence,  such  as  Flora  remembered 
to  have  seen  there  when  Farrell  Wand,  leaning 
on  the  dusty  counter,  had  bidden  him  go  and 
bring  something  pretty.  He  seemed  to  quiver  a 
moment  in  indecision.  Then  he  whipped  his  hand 
out  of  his  sleeve  and  held  it  forth  palm  upward. 
This  time  it  was  Chatworth  who  cried  out.  The 
thing  that  lay  on  the  goldsmith's  palm  Flora 
460 


THE     LAST     ENCHANTMENT 

had  never  seen,  though  once  it  had  been  described 
to  her — "a  bit  of  an  old  gold  heathen  god,  curled 
around  himself,  with  his  head  of  two  yellow  sap 
phires  and  a  big  blue  stone  on  top." 

There  it  blazed  at  her,  the  jewel  she  had  car 
ried  in  her  bosom,  that  she  had  hidden  in  her 
pouch  of  gold,  and  that  had  vanished  from  it 
at  the  touch  of  a  magic  hand,  now  cunningly 
restored  to  its  right  place  in  the  forehead  of  the 
Crew  Idol,  crowning  him  with  living  light. 

Speechless  they  looked  together  at  the  magic 
thing.  They  had  thought  it  far  at  sea ;  and  as 
if  at  a  wave  of  a  genii's  wand  it  was  here  before 
them  flashing  in  the  quiet  garden. 

With  an  effort  Chatworth  seemed  to  keep  him 
self  from  seizing  on  ring  and  man  together.  He 
looked  searchingly  at  the  goldsmith  and  seemed 
on  the  point  of  asking  a  question,  but,  instead, 
he  slowly  held  out  his  hand.  He  held  it  out  cup- 
fashion.  It  shook  so  that  Flora  saw  the  China 
man  steady  it  to  drop  in  the  ring.  Then,  fold 
ing  his  check  miraculously  small,  enveloping  it 
in  the  ragged  piece  of  newspaper,  the  little  man 
461 


THE     COAST     OF     CHANCE 

turned  and  shuffled  from  them  down  the  gravel 
walk. 

Chatworth  stood  staring  after  him  with  his 
Idol  in  his  palm.  Then,  turning  slow  eyes  to 
Flora,  "How  did  he  come  by  this?"  he  asked,  as 
sternly  as  if  he  demanded  it  of  the  mystery  it 
self. 

"He  had  it,  from  the  very  first."  The  pieces 
of  the  puzzle  were  flashing  together  in  Flora's 
mind.  "That  first  time  Harry  left  the  exhibit 
he  took  it  there." 

"But  the  blue  sapphire?"  Chatworth  insisted. 

"Harry,"  Flora  whispered,  "Harry  gave  it 
up  to  him." 

"Gave  it  up  to  him!"  Chatworth  echoed  in 
scorn. 

But  she  had  had  an  inspiration  of  understand 
ing.  "He  had  to — for  money  to  get  off  with. 
He  gave  Clara  all  he  had  so  that  she  would  let 
him  get  away.  Poor  thing!"  she  added  in  a 
lower  breath,  but  Chatworth  did  not  hear  her. 
He  had  taken  the  Idol  in  his  thumb  and  finger, 
and,  holding  it  up  in  the  broadening  light, 
462 


THE     LAST     ENCHANTMENT 

looked  fixedly  at  it  with  the  passionate  incred 
ulity  with  which  one  might  hold  and  look  at  a 
friend  thought  dead.  She  watched  him  with  her 
jealous  pang  increasing  to  a  greater  feeling — 
a  feeling  of  being  separated  from  him  by  this 
jewel  which  he  loved,  and  which  had  grown  to 
seem  hateful  to  her,  which  had  shown  itself  a 
breeder  of  all  the  greedy  passions.  She  came 
softly  up  to  him,  and,  lifting  her  hand,  covered 
the  Idol. 

He  turned  toward  her  in  wonder. 

"Ah,  you  love  it  too  much,"  she  whispered. 

"That's  unworthy  of  you,"  he  reproached  her. 
"I  have  loved  you  more;  and  that  in  spite  of 
what  I  believed  of  you,  and  what  this  means  to 
me.  To  me,  this  ring  is  not  a  pretty  thing  seen 
yesterday.  It  is  the  symbol  of  my  family.  It  is 
the  power  and  pride  of  us,  which  our  women  have 
worn  on  their  hands  as  they  have  worn  our  honor 
in  their  hearts.  It  is  part  of  the  life  of  my  peo 
ple  ;  and  now  it  has  made  itself  part  of  our  life, 
of  yours  and  mine.  Shall  I  ever  forget  how 
starkly  you  held  it  for  the  sake  of  my  honor, 
463 


THE     COAST    OF     CHANCE 

even  against  myself?  Should  I  ever  have  known 
you  without  it?"  He  put  the  ring  into  her  hand, 
and,  smiling  with  his  old  dare,  held  it  over  the 
fountain.  "Now,  if  you  want  to,  drop  it  in." 
He  released  her  hand  and  turned  to  leave  her  to 
her  will. 

For  a  moment  she  stood  with  power  in  her 
hands  and  her  eyes  on  his  averted  head.  Then 
with  a  little  rush  she  crossed  the  space  between 
them.  "Here,  take  it !  You  love  it !  I  want  you 
to  keep  it !  but  I  can't  forget  the  dreadful  things 
it  has  made  people  do.  It  makes  me  afraid." 

In  spite  of  his  smiling  he  seemed  to  her  very 
grave.  "You  dear,  silly  child !  The  whole  storm 
and  trouble  of  life  comes  from  things  being  in 
the  wrong  place.  This  has  been  in  the  wrong 
place  and  made  mischief." 

"Like  me,"  she  murmured. 

"Like  you,"  he  agreed.  "Now  we  shall  be  as 
we  should  be.  Give  me  your  hand." 

He  drew  off  all  the  rings  with  which  she  had 
once  tried  to  dim  the  sparkle  of  the  sapphire, 
and,  dropping  them  into  his  pocket  like  so  much 


THE     LAST     ENCHANTMENT 

dross,  slipped  on  the  Idol  that  covered  her  third 
finger  in  a  splendid  bar  from  knuckle  to  joint. 
Holding  her  by  just  the  tip  of  that  finger,  lean 
ing  back  a  little,  he  looked  into  her  eyes,  and 
she,  looking  back,  knew  that  it  wedded  them  once 
for  all. 


THE    END 


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fcEC'D  LD-URi 


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